Exsequor
by inmemoryoftheMasterRapper
Summary: Modern-day AU. Ever since they were little tots, through thick and thin, he had loved him. Up until their dying day, he loved him. That will never change.
1. Scarlet Geranium

**Exsequor**

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**Summary: **_Ever since they were little tots,_ _through thick and thin, he had loved him. Up until their dying day, he loved him. That will never change._

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**A/N: **Restructured. Every single chapter restructured for your reading needs. :3

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**CHAPTER ONE: Scarlet Geranium**

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_"As for loving-kindness and trueness they have met each other. Righteousness and peace—they have kissed each other." –Psalm 85:10_

* * *

"Maylene Meurtriere!"

"Yes—!"

"Elizabeth Middleford!"

"Here!"

"Bard Blaisdell!"

"Yes..."

"Finnian Durus!"

"Yes—! Tee hee!"

"Okay. Let's see now... Ciel—!"

A sigh. "...Yes..."

A soft clop from the front indicated that the woman had now closed the roll book, and all attention went to their teacher, Missus Rachel Durless-Phantomhive.

She stood up and went in front and smiled at the class, clapping her hands twice to catch their attention, "All right, children. Today we're going to have a new classmate. Now, this child is going to be a part of this family, meaning this class, and I want you to be kind to him, all right?"

A high-pitched chorus of approval was the response.

The chestnut-haired teacher then smiled and turned to the door with her hands clasped to her chest, "Okay, then. Introduce yourself, little one."

At that, all tiny yet wide and innocent pairs of eyes turned to the door with excitement for the new addition to their "family". The teacher always made sure that all students in her class would be like one, big, happy family, treating each other like brothers and sisters.

A pale little boy entered the room; he took tiny steps towards the smiling teacher, his head bowed throughout.

He gulped. And he clenched his little hands on his little black shorts, never once meeting a pair of eyes, including the still smiling teacher, as his lips started to quiver.

After much awkward fiddling, the boy nervously looked at the smiling lady on his right side. She looks kind, he thought. With that in mind, he faced the class and silently observed the pairs of eyes that have been looking at him with scrutiny.

With a huff of air through his lungs, he smiled his brightest smile he could muster and finally spoke, a tiny little blush formed on his pale little cheeks, "I'm Sebastian Michaelis and I love cats! Nice to meet cha!"

The whole class blinked. The teacher continued to smile and so did the little boy, showing off his pearly white baby teeth to the world.

What caught their attention were his eyes—they were the brightest shade of red that they had ever seen.

Missus Rachel turned again to the class, her beaming face blinding the students, "Little Sebastian here will be a part of our family from now on. Be kind to him, okay?"

And the chorus of high-pitched voices of approval rang in the room.

While they were still cheering, the blue-eyed teacher whispered to the child, "Now, where do you want to sit, little Sebastian?" Said child blinked in response as he stared at the random children again, contemplating about the place where he would sit for the rest of the day.

The various pairs of eyes that were on him before were now nowhere to be seen. Thanks to their short attention span, the children were now talking amongst themselves, chattering and tittering their little voices out.

He tilted his head to one side, carefully scanning the kids that were now his classmates. One child had curled, blond hair, wearing the most blinding shade of a pink skirt and blouse, screeching randomly about a bunny she found on her way home last night with her nanny.

The little boy frowned. Too girly, he thought.

He looked again, and he found a girl with shoulder-length magenta hair, and had a pair of eyes that could rival his own red orbs—except hers were almost the same colour as her locks. A pity though, that she had to hide her eyes behind a broken pair of eyeglasses.

He smiled a bit. Maybe she can be my friend, he thought. He was about to point at her direction until a blond boy blocked his vision of the little girl. Sebastian's frown deepened a bit as he saw the blond's eyes darted to him in what others might consider a look of disgust.

The red-eyed child whimpered, and his finger curled as he seemed to shrink back behind Rachel.

His eyes scanned the room again, red orbs landing on a mop of red hair. He looked timid enough... until another blond with green eyes pulled the redhead's hair scrutchy... Wait.

_Hair scrutchy?_

He blinked again. _I thought those were just for girls?_

He shook his head as he stared at "timid" boy—_why is he long-haired, anyway?_—who suddenly tried to cut the blond's hair with a pair of tiny scissors. The little blond wailed for help, and the teacher went to rescue the poor child, scolding the redhead as she did so.

And the black-haired boy was left alone in front of the uncaring class.

He scanned the room once more. He was looking for a quiet place to sit in, away from those little snot-nosed kids. He didn't quite care if it was in the corner of the room, isolated from the class...

And then, he found one spot at the back of the room. A lone child was sitting at the back, reading a book about—

"The History of World War I..." he whispered._  
_

He blinked—and before he knew it, he was making his way to the back, scarlet eyes never leaving the shiny mop of dark blue hair that belonged to another child in the class.

He stood in front of the girl's (at least that's what he thought at first glance) rainbow-colored desk, smiling sweetly as he eyed an empty chair beside her (him). _This is my chance!_

He cleared his throat, and it got the child's attention. The book was lowered enough to look at the boy standing and smiling before him.

A quirk of an eyebrow, "Whaddo you wan'?"

The child's voice was cute, (s)he has _sparkling_ blue eyes and a tiny, heart-shaped face with a bit of blush on (his) her cheeks, and had a pair of earrings that matched (his) her lovely eyes. _She's shining!_

Without beating around the bush, he pointed towards the chair, and smiled, "May I sit there?"

The boy pouted. He did not like his tiny space bubble being popped by random people, his parents or the family servants not included. He closed his eyes, thinking. He disliked people staring at him, it made him irritable. Ciel opened his eyes and looked at the pale boy, "'Lright. Just dun bother me with m 'reading." And with that, he buried his little nose back to his book.

Sebastian smiled and promptly sat on the little chair, and he looked at the classroom. Really, could these kids get even _noisier?_ As though his question was answered, the girl in the pink clothes ran across the room, yelling something about, "Ash put something sticky on m'hair!"

The pale child sighed, why couldn't they be quiet like the child beside him? _(S)he doesn't join in with the rambunctious noise._

And look, (s)he had already flipped a page on the book. Curiously, his red eyes peered over the page the child was reading, he could read the small letters perfectly, and he could see those blue eyes shifting from left to right swiftly, reading the words on the page intently. The child's long lashes mystified Sebastian, and he admired the child's beauty.

Without a second thought (the child had been ignoring him completely as he read), the smiling Sebastian pecked the child's left cheek, earning a startled look from the "girl".

Ciel had unconsciously let go of the book and it fell on his feet, then onto the floor. The child puffed his cheeks, all red and pink tinged together from embarrassment. "Why'ja do that for?" he whined.

Oh yes, the child was cute. Sebastian only leant back on his chair, his head placed behind his hands, "Nuffin'."

The child gaped like a bubble about to burst, "Whad'ja mean, "nuffin'"? Y'kissed me!" Upon hearing that, all eyes zoomed in on the back of the room, even Missus Rachel stopped scolding the redhead and another boy with white hair—_is he that old?—_and listened to their argument.

This time, the blue-eyed child stood up, revealing tiny legs with dark blue shorts. Creamy, the red-eyed one thought; but pity the one band-aid on one knee cap, he must have tripped, he mused. When he looked at the child again, he faced the anger in those blue eyes.

"Why didja kiss me?" the boy fumed.

In a split second, blue eyes met red ones and he was met with a hug. The whole class, the teacher, and even the child being hugged, stilled.

In a silent whisper, Sebastian breathed to the tiny shell of her (his) ear.

"_Because you're cute."_

And the child, the son of missus Rachel, the _boy,_ blushed a several shades of shy pink to bloody red.

"I'm _wha-at?_"

_Oh yes, the girl is _this_ cute._

* * *

In the Language of Flowers, there blooms: a scarlet geranium, which symbolizes a kiss.


	2. White Lily

**Exsequor**

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**Summary: **_Ever since they were little tots,_ _through thick and thin, he had loved him. Up until their dying day, he loved him. That will never change._

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**CHAPTER TWO: White Lily**

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_"Let all your affairs take place with love." –1 Corinthians 16:14_

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In a fit of stares and giggles and whispers, the little child fled towards the teacher, stumbling on an eraser as he did so. He could hear their gasps as he tried to stand up again, but failed miserably.

Before he knew it, he was sniffling and crying in the arms of his mother. "He did something wrong to me, Mummy!" And he kept on bawling until he felt his mother humming through her jugular. That was all it took for the child to calm down.

"Hush now, Ciel. Mummy's here." Rachel sighed and looked at her child, now with a lump on his forehead. She winced and bit her lip. The Phantomhive heir couldn't go on a walk with _that_ on his brows, now, could he? Ciel would only bawl his eyes out if he saw it, seeing as the child had always been kind of vain when it came to his appearance—like his father_._

Rachel brushed away her thoughts as she smiled and patted her son's back, "Tell me what happened, honey. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding from your part—"

"No, Mummy! He kissed me! He kissed my cheek! No one but mummy an' daddy'r allw'd t'touch me!" he cried.

Truly, Rachel was touched for the compassion her son had for his family, but the fact that he was kissed by another boy, well—maybe the boy had an accident and landed on his cheek?

As she was about to ask her son, she heard a voice at the back of the room, "I'm sorry!"

Ciel stopped hiccuping and wiped his tears, and he faced the red-eyed child. He sniffled. "…Really…?"

Sebastian nodded fervently.

Rachel giggled at her son's sudden mood change. Really, Ciel could be as innocent as a newborn kitten, and the teacher couldn't help but smile as the new student tried to coax Ciel to laugh by pulling on the insides of his cheeks and sticking his tongue out. In a matter of seconds, not only Ciel but the whole class laughed, even Rachel giggled at the scarlet-eyed boy.

The blue-haired child laughed so hard that he almost tumbled to the floor for a second time if it weren't for two tiny yet strong hands that caught him just in time.

"Got'cha."

Ciel couldn't help but stare at the red orbs as Sebastian beamed down on him. And the boy continued, "Can't have a pretty girl like you hav'n' an'ther scratch on her head, righ'?" It was only a whisper on his left ear, and Ciel unconsciously gripped Sebastian's black shirt. The smaller child (Sebastian was taller than him by four inches) blushed at the contact of warm air on his ear, registering the uttered words in his head.

The blue-eyed child gasped at the words, and suddenly, he shoved the other boy away from him like a plague. His cheeks (and his still sore forehead) tinged red from the contact, and he flared in childish fury yet again.

"Y'called m'what?" Ciel pouted.

Sebastian, oblivious to the child's real gender, only smiled with child-like innocence, "I said you're a pretty an' be'tiful an' cute li'l kit'n."

As though coated in red paint, Ciel's already reddish face got even redder from the embarrassment of what the boy just said. Ready to pounce on the still smiling child—_stop smilin', stupid!_—Ciel huffed his cheeks and clenched his tiny hands into fists and retorted, "I'm not a gi—"

_Ring!_

"Yay! Lunch time—!"

Children squealed and trotted off to their respective seats and took out their lunch boxes, the smell of various foods wafted under their noses, they had already forgotten that the new student almost got involved into a fight with their "baby brother" Ciel.

"Ciel, go get your lunch now, honey. I wouldn't want you to get sick all because of skipping meals," Rachel cooed as she lifted Ciel up to her arms and made her way to carry him to his seat at the back.

Sebastian suddenly stiffened.

As she carried her son, Rachel saw Sebastian bowing his head, probably for what he did to his classmate. The teacher was about to take another step until she heard the child sniffle. She paused, and turned to look at the child.

She could see the boy toying with the hems of his shorts again, pouting. Rachel smiled as she crouched in front of the still sniffling five-year-old; her free hand that was on Ciel's back now placed itself on Sebastian's trembling shoulder, "What's wrong, little one?"

At the voice, the red-eyed boy looked up, and sniffled once again.

Sebastian bowed again and kept on fumbling his hems and mumbled something that went incoherent to Rachel's hearing.

The teacher frowned. She definitely saw the child's lips move, but didn't hear a word. Hence, she asked him again, "I'm sorry. What was it again that you said?"

At this, Sebastian's face crumbled and faced the blinking teacher, "I weft my wunch. I… forgot it a'home when bro'her was bringing m'here… I… I…" Drops of tears dripped from his eyes, making them even redder. One of the things that the child hated was seeing other people doing something while he sat in a corner doing nothing. And here he was now, bawling on the fact that he had forgotten his lunch at home when his beloved brother was taking him to school.

Sebastian wiped the mucus threatening to come out of his nose with his shirt, making a mess out of it. He wiped his tears, and when he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a nearly-crying Ciel.

The dark blue-haired child pouted as he took Sebastian's hand in his and looked intently at him. Rachel hadn't noticed that her child was out of grasp for a split second. With a sniffle, Ciel chirped, "I'll share you my wunch! Mummy always tells me to eat meals and never skip them if I don't want to get'a… a… a tum'ache!"

At this, both Rachel and Sebastian blinked and both thought in unison._  
_

The teacher and student stared at the blue-eyed boy incredulously; one minute he was fuming at the child for kissing his cheek, then laughed when the other child made him laugh, then fumed again at something that the two of them couldn't comprehend. Rachel couldn't blame him though, it was in their genes to be moody from time to time.

Sebastian blinked again as he realized that here was a "girl" offering "her" lunch to him. Really, how could he resist such a sweet offer?

"M'kay. I'll 'ccept your wunch."

Ciel instantly brightened up like a sunflower and hurriedly grabbed his upper arm and dragged him to the back, before turning to look at his mother and smiled, "Mummy! I'll share m'wunch with S'basti'n!" Said child mumbled something about not pronouncing his name right, but quickly shrugged it off completely as Ciel continued to shower him his brightest smiles, and watched as his teacher, too, smiled at the two retreating figures, and waved at them before going to her desk to eat.

Looking back at Ciel's face, he couldn't fathom that this was the moody child he just talked (quarreled, actually) to a few minutes ago. Before he knew it, he was already dragged at the back of the room and is now facing a forkful of mashed potatoes with mayonnaise and basil courtesy of Ciel (because it's his favorite dish aside from the luscious sweets he always eat at home).

Sebastian gulped as he nervously looked at the smiling and slightly pinkish hued child offering him a part of (her) his lunch. He ate the proffered spoonful, and he chewed and swallowed, and his lips touched the utensil. _This's her fork!_

He blushed.

"Y'like it?" Ciel suddenly beamed and Sebastian could only nod meekly. The blue-eyed child squealed and giggled as he clapped his hands, "Mummy made it jus'for me!" Sebastian had to smile at that, the child's smile was contagious and no one seemed to be immune to the striking charms of the future Earl of Phantomhives, albeit Ciel himself didn't know the radiance and beauty he inadvertently spread to the world.

"Wan'more?" Ciel asked as the raven child smiled and opened his mouth once again. And so he fed Sebastian with all that he could.

"M'turn t'eat!" Ciel proclaimed after he fed Sebastian enough forkfuls of the yellow dish along with two cheese muffins (he had four).

"Eh?" Red orbs blinked yet again as his eyes followed the utensil that was previously inside his mouth. The fork was dipped into the chunks of yellows and whites with dashes of greens, and Sebastian watched as the silverware disappeared inside his classmate's pouty mouth. One pale hand had to clamp his lips shut as to not say anything disturbing to the child. _It's like'a kiss bu'not a kiss!_

Sebastian watched the scene before him, and it was not until the last forkful of the food that was left on his lunch box that Ciel finally noticed his classmate staring at it. Ciel turned, "Wan'some?"

Sebastian gulped again as he noticed the last forkful of potatoes was becoming more and more clear to his sight, and finally, to his mouth.

Suddenly, as though the tables were turned, the utensil was suddenly directed to Ciel, with Sebastian's pale hand accompanying it. Ciel pouted in a way that screamed, "But I wan'to g've it t'you!"

But Sebastian paid no heed as the fork went nearer and nearer until it reached the surface of Ciel's lips. "Open up," Sebastian said. Ciel obeyed (although with slight hesitance on his part), his hand still clasped onto the fork, as Sebastian's hand never let him go. The child's red eyes watched as Ciel opened his mouth and chewed on the food as he pursed his lips in his child-like ways.

Sebastian smiled, and pointed to the child's lips. "Y'have some over there." And without warning, Sebastian puckered his lips and pecked Ciel's slightly salty ones.

The blue-haired child turned beet red at the sudden action (for the third time this day) as Sebastian smiled at him and whispered on his lips, "Tha' was good."

Sebastian could practically hear a whine that somehow resembled a kicked puppy from Ciel's vocal cords._  
_

All of the sudden, Ciel tried to burst his previous words, "But I'm not a gir—"

"Okay, class, lunch is over. Clean up your tables, everyone!" Rachel clapped twice after she heard the bell rang. She had long finished her ham and tomato sandwich and was now looking at the fiddling children in case they needed some help in trying to clean up their mess.

Ciel only sighed.

Why did he have such a bad timing for words?

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In the Language of Flowers, there blooms: a white lily, which symbolizes innocence.


	3. Ivy

**Exsequor**

* * *

**Summary:** _Ever since they were little tots,_ _through thick and thin, he had loved him. Up until their dying day, he loved him. That will never change._

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**CHAPTER THREE: Ivy**

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_"But as for you, be strong and do not give up, for your work will be rewarded." –2 Chronicles 15:7_

* * *

Today's school was extraordinary—for Ciel. He didn't know when he decided to grab his seatmate by the hand and ask him to go home with him and his mother.

"You're house is next t'mine!" he had proclaimed, and Sebastian only smiled as he let "her" drag him to who knows where.

Ciel had asked for Rachel's permission, and she allowed her son to accompany Sebastian; he _had_ made her son laugh, after all (which was not the easiest task to do since the child had a refined sense of humor).

The little boys were now running down the hallways, and Sebastian mustered a question for the joyful boy, "Ciel... I thou' you dun like being touch'd?"

Said child stopped and turned at his companion with doe-like eyes. He then slowly let go of the pale hand and looked at him, blue eyes never wavering in the slightest. "S'basti'n is my fwend! So he's p'cious t'me! Mummy says to hold th'most p'cious people with affection from their hearts! An' so I am!" he giggled. Ciel then clung onto Sebastian's pale arm, the limb seemed to fit perfectly with his own, and he giggled as he whispered to a tiny ear shell, "B'sides, y'said that you'd heal m'forehead, righ'?"

_Oh righ'... I f'rgot. _"Yup!" Sebastian smiled.

The two of them stopped in front of the faculty office, with Ciel still clinging onto Sebastian. The taller boy opened the door _("Always let in a lady first before a man," _his brother had drilled it to him many times_) _and let Ciel inside first.

A slightly gruff, elderly male voice boomed as they entered the room, "Who is it?" The owner of the voice stood up from his wide, leather chair—he inhaled what seemed like dust particles from the air, illuminated by the lazy sunrays—and he went towards the tiny figures standing by the doorway.

Ciel suddenly hid behind Sebastian, whimpering. The tiny voice of the red-eyed child pricked through his ears, "What's wrong?" But Ciel only shook his head as his hold on Sebastian's hand tightened.

Pale lips slightly frowned as he looked at the man that caused his friend fear.

The man was chubby, with a pot belly tracing the outlines of his long sleeves. he had a ruddy white beard sticking out of his chin and had a gaze that could be compared to that of a person belonging to an asylum. His fingernails were also slightly chipped, as if he bit on them too much, and Sebastian shuddered at the sight presented to them.

Red eyes glanced at his still quivering companion. Ciel was hiding behind the petite shoulders that Sebastian possessed, and he wanted (so badly) to comfort the child—even in just a form of few words (or maybe even a kiss on the cheek). That tiny hand on his pale skin became two, and they wrapped around five tiny fingers, and Ciel had to hide the blush that formed on his snow-kissed skin.

Sebastian heard a step and looked into the eyes of one that resembled a dirty old man. The child's scarlet orbs were almost on fire—anger, anger!—and the tiny pearls of teeth bared themselves, ready to defend the frail being behind him. _No one'll touch her 'ccept me!_

Sausage-like fingers inched closer and closer to the shivering child, and Sebastian mustered his deadliest glare as he stealthily grabbed a pocket knife from the back of his shorts and planned to strike. Fat fingers moved to pat Ciel's head, and the taller child moved her (him) aside, though (s)he still clung onto him, refusing to budge. The man made no move of regret as he continued to reach out to the chi—

"Oh, Principal Kelvin! There you are!"

And the world suddenly crashed on the man.

"Mummy!"

Ciel suddenly went over to the voice that invaded the room, still dragging the other boy along with him.

And the principal was left stuck on his spot, speechless. He was only pulled back to reality when he heard a perfectly refined deep voice from the outside of the stuffy room.

"Hello, Ciel."

"Daddy!"

Ciel abruptly let go of Sebastian and hugged his father, to which the latter smiled and returned the embrace, "How was school today, Ciel?" It was a refined timbre coming out of those defined vocal chords. Ciel, in that instant, beamed blindingly at that person the child affectionately called his "father" as he let go of the embrace.

"'Twas wonderful, Daddy! I made a new fwend!" The child was proud of his "new fwend", as Ciel put it, so the tall man with the alabaster skin and night-kissed hair smiled at the child.

"Oh, is that so? Then perhaps you could introduce daddy to your friend, yes?"

A mop of midnight-blue hair nodded excitedly as he turned to the black-haired child and grabbed his right arm, much to the latter's discomfort. Red eyes looked at the tall man with revered awe and back at Ciel with slight confusion.

"This's S'basti'n, daddy! He's m'new fwend!" Ciel beamed despite his still aching forehead.

Vincent smiled and slightly tilted his head, "...So, this is the boy your mother spoke of. The one that tripped you, yes?"

It was that scary smile, one that sent shivers through those wide, blue orbs.

Ciel suddenly shook his head fervently, "Mummy got it wrong! I tripp'd on m'own! That's why I..." And Ciel sniffled.

Vincent's blinked, and smiled understandingly as he knelt in front of the child, wiping away his tear-streaked face, "Ssh, don't cry now, Ciel. I'm not mad at you, or at your friend..." Vincent then glanced at those strange yet lovely claret eyes. "It's just that I got upset seeing you hurt... You're someone of noble blood, Ciel, remember that. You must always have flawless skin—and I mean _always—_understand?" Vincent looked at his son and smiled lovingly that Ciel couldn't help but nod, his cheeks still tinged pink from his earlier fit of tears.

Vincent then turned to the pale-looking boy, "Listen. Sebastian's your name, right?" Said child nodded, eyes fixated on the little mole under the man's left eye. It was the first time he saw a man with a mole, he had always thought only girls get them. Sebastian blinked away his thoughts as Vincent cleared his throat and lightly grabbed the boy's tiny arms, "Listen now and listen very well." The tone was somehow laced with seriousness, not what he expected of the man that smiled kindly at them for the past three seconds. "You will take care of my boy for me when I am away. Seeing that you are still a child, you might not be able to understand this well, but please do it for me. Ciel's a bit of naïve, you see. And I can't just go here and see my lovely child with a huge bump on his forehead, but this little kid here seems to have taken a liking to you. So I'm putting his safety in your hands. Okay, Sebastian?"

Sebastian only blinked, not really getting where the conversation was going, but he could sense one thing: Ciel's safety being his first priority from now on.

Rachel—who was behind the kneeling man—laughed, also having no clue as to why her husband would say such a thing to a five-year-old child, "Really, Vince, must you be so cold that you don't know who you are talking to? That little boy is a _child,_ Vincent. What are you thinking?" Her voice raised—her smile still placed, albeit awkwardly, on her pretty red lips—and both children looked at each other in puzzlement.

Vincent chuckled and sighed as he stood up and patted the boys' heads and turned to Rachel. "I'll tell it to you later, Rachel," he uttered grimly as his dark blue eyes narrowed. And the woman was slightly worried, for both of his husband and the two little boys who knew nothing of the world... yet.

Dark eyes flitted to the round figure inside the room, that principal still stuck to his place.

"Principal. How nice of you to look after the students every day while I'm away," he smiled, and the puffy beard of the principal twitched into a smile of his own (which turned out to be a smirk instead), unbeknownst to the other what the real meaning of the words the tall man just said.

And Kelvin raised his hands, chipped teeth shown to the world as his voice boomed, loud enough for the walls to vibrate, "Of course! It's my pleasure after what you have done to my outlook in life!"

Vincent tried not to snort. "Oh, Mister Kelvin, that's too much. I only did what I could after that slump I had in my factory a few years ago."

And the men were now off in their little world, and Rachel worriedly looked at the children. She then kissed her son's brow, "Ciel, honey, are you all right?"

The child nodded and smiled happily—bouncing on his tiptoes every now and then as his hand clasped onto Sebastian's—not fully understanding the whole situation presented to him. Rachel hugged the child and glanced at Sebastian's unreadable expression.

And it was then that she realized that Sebastian hid a knife behind him.

She held her son tighter before releasing his embrace.

Noticing her gaze, Sebastian hurriedly clutched Ciel's hand possessively. "I-I'll protect Ciel. An' I'll prove t'you that'm worthy of her! And someday I'll marry Ciel!"

Oh.

Such heavy words for a small child like him.

And this child called Ciel a "her"!

All conversation from the principal's office stopped as soon as they heard the words, "worthy", "marry" and "Ciel", all in _one_ sentence.

And the three adults blinked at the utter seriousness of the child that held a red gaze with determination. All three of them had one thing in mind.

_And so he thinks Ciel is a girl._

Ciel only stared at the different people around him, blinking all the while. He knew that marriage was something that happens when a person loves another (_Like Mummy an' Daddy!_), so what did _that_ have to do anything with him and this person currently holding his hand?

All silence was broken when a gruff voice boomed once again in a hearty laugh.

"Ha! AhahahaHA! You'll marry little Ciel over there, you say? HAHA!" The laughter echoed from room to room, and it slowly died down long after, and the man wiped unshed tears of mirth—Rachel and Vincent never joined in the laughter, their faces blank and blinking. "I will look forward to that day, little child," it was said with a smirk. Oh, how beautifully _innocent_ and yet twisted children could be when they wanted to.

And the school year had officially begun.

* * *

In the Language of Flowers, there blooms: an ivy, which symbolizes wedded love.


	4. Blue Periwinkle

**Exsequor**

* * *

**Summary:** _Ever since they were little tots,_ _through thick and thin, he had loved him. Up until their dying day, he loved him. That will never change._

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR: Blue Periwinkle**

* * *

_"He says: 'I will declare your name to my brothers…'" –Hebrews 1:12_

* * *

"Daddy, Daddy! C'we 'nvite S'basti'n t'our house?"

An over-energetic Ciel bounced up and down as they exited the faculty building. They have long left the (creepy) principal in his office for him to pack up, the students have long been gone and had headed for home, and only the maintenance staff were left.

Because of the vast riches of the Phantomhives, Vincent was able to build a school for all year levels, regardless of their status in society. He believed that the "people who go up will someday go down", so he was making the best of it to the people. Currently, there were three branches of Queen Victoria's Guardian Academy throughout England: the main branch being in London (where Ciel attends), and the other two being in Yorkshire and Cheshire. For additional income, Vincent (with the help of Rachel) built a company of confectioneries and toys—

—a company that would soon land on Ciel's hands someday; the husband and wife built it for their only son, after all.

Vincent hummed when he heard the child pipe up, his tiny and shrill voice echoed in the empty corridor along with their footsteps. The man then turned to the child, one hand being held by him, the other being held by a joyful-looking Sebastian, and the latter's hand being held by Rachel.

"Of course, we can, Ciel. But only if we have his parents' permission, okay?" He smiled as Ciel's blue eyes widened in obvious delight and quickly alerted Sebastian.

"Bu' I dun hav' par'nts," Sebastian flatly stated.

And Ciel's smiled faltered from his tiny lips. "Oh," was all he could say.

The husband and wife frowned at the child's statement—Rachel roughly elbowed her husband. Vincent never knew that tidbit of information.

Rachel was aware of the fact that Sebastian had no parents. The only relatives written in his records were his brother and his grandmother, which he never met (according to the older sibling). But the older brother—the fact that their surnames were different explained it all.

He was an adopted child.

Ciel thought about his words. The saying, "things better left unsaid" crossed his young mind. The concept was still too hard for him to understand, even for someone with a noble blood. At the corner of his eye, he noticed his frowning mother, and Ciel looked back at Sebastian who was currently looking at the tiled floor with interest.

"Y'can be m'fam'ly!"

Sebastian, even the husband and wife, blinked at the child's sudden proclamation.

Ciel then broke away from the males' grasp and paused in front of the puzzled child—and his eyes reflected the sun's setting rays.

A sea of blue melted with red and orange and yellow met Sebastian's claret eyes as Ciel spoke up.

"Become one with my family! Y'can come over at my house an' w'can play t'gether! You'll b'my sp'cial p'rson! An' Sebastian'll be with me 'til we grow up!"

Sebastian's scarlet eyes widened after hearing those words, and for once, the words, "my family" and "Sebastian" sounded right (literally) in his ears.

Ciel had pronounced his name correctly.

Sebastian's expressionless face lit up at the realization, and his pale hand let go of Rachel's slowly.

"Say it again."

Ciel tilted his head, "Eh?"

"Say it again!" This time, Sebastian was directly in front of him, only a puff of breath away; and his hands were now on Ciel's tiny arms.

"Say wut?" Blue eyes of innocence blinked at the sudden question and tilted his head.

"M'name."

"S'basti'n."

Sebastian shook his head repeatedly, "Nonono! Say it corr'ctly!" The child only wanted this tiny little girl (boy) to say his name, and nothing else. Why must the task at hand be so hard?

Ciel bit his lip. It came out of his tongue that way, who could blame him? He mentally prepared himself of how he would fulfill his request, so he trembled as he opened his lips to let a bit of air in.

"Sebastian." And he pouted. There. That wasn't so bad now, was it?

And Sebastian _beamed,_ the kind of blinding smile that Ciel normally held for everyone close to him.

It made Ciel happy.

And again, he kissed Ciel's forehead (sloppily), earning a gasp from Rachel and a couple of blinks from Vincent.

Sebastian giggled as he hugged Ciel tightly, and Ciel could only give him an awkward hug.

"Ah. So mega little mini-Seba finally found a friend on the first day of school, eh?"

The children stopped twirling and hugging, and Ciel frowned upon stopping, and both turned to the voice, and Sebastian loosened his hold on Ciel.

The child's pale face scrunched as he pouted. He huffed, "Dun call me mega little mini-Seba!"

The lanky man laughed and stepped—waltzed, as to how Vincent would point it out—towards the children and took notice of the man and woman staring at him. He coughed and bowed, like a gentleman would, his white, snow-kissed hair met the sun's glow.

"I apologize for my utter rudeness a few seconds ago, madame and monsieur, but may I take the liberty to introduce myself?"

He did not wait for a proper reply and took their (somehow) appalled faces as a "yes".

He smiled, his pale blue eyes melting like a rush of ocean waves in the setting sun. "I'm Earl Charles of Grey, older brother of this little mega mini-Sebastian over here. Pleased to meet you again, Lady, or should I say, Missus Rachel? By the way, other people say that I'm quite difficult when it comes to my preferred way of speaking, which is why I apologise in advance."

Rachel and Vincent blinked in unison, baffled by the oh-so-very-formal way of introducing himself. They looked at his smiling face, apparently amused at something that Vincent could not quite place.

After trying to digest the words of the obviously young man, Rachel clapped her hands—her habit—and smiled. "Oh, yes! You're Mister Charles! Yes, yes, I remember. You were that nice man who picked up my fallen oranges a few weeks ago when I was on my way to the faculty lounge! And you were taking a hold of your little brother by the hand, which was so sweet of you." She looked as though she just recalled a precious long lost memory as she glanced at Sebastian, who was now blushing. She turned to her husband—clapping her hands once again, "Honey, this is Mister Charles Grey, he's that young man you saw when I was trying to pick up my oranges for Ciel!"

Vincent hummed, and rubbed his chin with his thumb as he eyed the young man with much thought, "Oh, I see. The one that you offered an enrollment form?"

Charles nodded quite enthusiastically. "Yup. And you, Monsieur, were the one who brought hamburgers and coffee to your lovely wife here."

Vincent then laughed, relieved in a way as his memory was refreshed, "So that was you. I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself at that time." He scratched the back of his head.

Charles laughed, "It's all right, good sir. People are never perfect."

Vincent nodded, amused of the young man's choice of words. He offered a handshake and squared his shoulders, "I'm Earl Vincent of Phantomhive. Nice to meet you."

Charles took the offered handshake and smiled, "Well, I'm looking forward to the wonderful things this school has to offer! And seeing that you are the owner of this campus, may I ask that you tour me and my little brother tomorrow?"

Vincent's eyebrows shot up in amusement. It was as though his gentlemanly aura he emitted earlier was nothing but a façade. He blinked and smiled, nodding stiffly, "All right. I'll tour you on Sunday at nine o'clock, since I'm free on the weekends, is that fine?"

Charles nodded excitedly and he turned to Sebastian, who was now holding Ciel's hand. And surprisingly, the slate grey-haired child did not react violently at the contact of this person. In fact, he was welcoming it, somehow.

Charles found it to be endearing.

"Little Seba, Mister Vincent here will tour us on Sunday. Be a good little brother like I always tell you to, okay?"

Sebastian nodded, his grip on Ciel's hand inadvertently tightening, he had chosen to ignore the "Little Seba" comment.

Charles knelt in front of the child with dark blue hair, meeting his innocent azure gaze, "Hello, little one. What's your name?"

Ciel blinked and scrunched his chin and glanced at his parents for assurance to introduce himself, and they nodded. And the child mustered his widest smile and twiddled his toes inside his shoes as he tiptoed in glee, "I'm Ciel Phantomhive, nice t'meet cha!"

It took a moment to realize that Charles was now hugging Ciel in a blink of an eye, exclaiming that he was "the cutest thing since Sebastian came to his life even though he has a bump on his forehead"—his exact words.

Tiny scarlet eyes widened as his brother continued to hug his friend (_M'bride!_) and Ciel silently wished for someone to stop this person at once.

"Le'go 'f m'friend!"

And that was all it took for Charles to stop his fits of (unnecessary) hugs to Ciel, to which the child was grateful. When Charles did let go of Ciel reluctantly, however, Rachel was in a fit herself: of laughing so hard she had clung onto her dearest husband's brown coat. All the boys stared at her sudden burst of hilarity.

Her laughter died long after a few more gasps of precious air, and she took her white handkerchief from her purple purse and dabbed the edges of it at the corners of her eyes to avoid smearing her mascara. She did not mind the baffled stares she received from her husband and the boys, "I'm sorry. I can't—tee hee—help it! The children of today are so cute!" She giggled again. Vincent only sighed as he patted her back to calm his wife down. He could never understand the thing about women who love seeing boys being too chummy with other boys.

Then again, he had felt giddy when he once saw Rachel grabbing her sister's—_Oh! Stop thinking for once, Vincent!_

He coughed and pinched his nose.

"Mister Charles! C'you come with us t'our house? I wan' to show S'basti'n my home!" Ciel piped, and he stood on his tiptoes as he smiled innocently—a smile that Vincent wished never to be tainted by the world.

Vincent could see Sebastian mumbling something about "going back to pronouncing his name differently again". They would grow up someday, and their baby talk would broaden into something deeper, so Vincent never minded it at all. Vincent saw Charles patting Ciel's head and the young man (almost) squealed a loud, "Okay! But first, let's get some cupcakes from my store!"

Vincent pointed at the lanky teen, "You own a store?"

Charles immediately let go of bear-hugging his little brother (and ignored the latter's empty threats) and faced Vincent, "Hm? Why, yes, we have a store right around South Hill Park, if memory serves. It opened up a few days after we moved here. We're still new here after all, so we don't know all of the streets yet. Right, Little Seba?" He then tickled the child to no end, and Sebastian could only squirm as he giggled and made his way slowly to the floor laughing. He had long let go of Ciel's hand when his brother interrupted him with his "touches of doom", as Charles put it.

Vincent and Rachel found the scene quite amusing.

Rachel suddenly realized something as she, again, clapped her hands once and smiled, her pretty blue eyes wide with excitement, "South Hill Park? We live near there! We live right in Parliament Hill!"

Charles instantly widened his sky blue eyes, "That's the street where we live in!"

Rachel's face lightened up as she pointed at the young man who had stopped tickling the child on the tiled floor, "So then, you're the new ones who moved in two weeks ago?"

Charles laughed and his eyes shifted to the wall, "I guess. I never really put much thought in my surroundings... unless necessary." He scratched his hair, effectively ruffling the strands of white.

Rachel giggled in return and looked at Vincent, "Honey, these children are our neighbours! Isn't that nice? The world is really small! Why don't we tag them along to that bakery he mentioned?" She was almost _sparkling_. She knew Vincent could never resist the charms of his wife, no matter how absurd her requests were.

Vincent sighed. He _really_ could never resist her, "All right. Let's pack up, then. There's room enough for the two of them."

Rachel and Charles clapped their hands and cheered excitedly like children. Vincent mustered a small smile. _Being married at such a young age really has its benefits._

Why did he feel like this Charles and his wife would get along very well like siblings?

He could only sigh.

* * *

In the Language of Flowers, there blooms: a blue periwinkle, which symbolizes early friendship.


	5. Lesser Celandine

**Exsequor**

* * *

**Summary: **_Ever since they were little tots, through thick and thin, he had loved him. Up until their dying day, he loved him. That will never change._

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE: Lesser Celandine**

* * *

_"Even in laughter the heart may be in pain; and grief is what rejoicing ends up in." –Proverbs 14:13_

* * *

"So... I assume the lady and the monsieur have never been to the bakery established by my grandmother?"

An awkward giggle. It was from Rachel. "No, I suppose we haven't, then. Well, we might as well try to take some samples! Oh, and Ciel will be the one to taste them." Aquamarine eyes turned to Ciel and smiled, hands tightly clasped in a gleeful manner.

Ciel gladly accepted.

As everyone joined in merry laughter, Sebastian looked at the passersby through the window; all the while, his right hand chastely covering Ciel's tiny left hand.

They were guffawing now. Charles had said something about a joke that Sebastian had failed to notice, as his tiny claret orbs were fixated on a scene just outside the window. Turning to one corner, he saw a couple yelling at one another on the pavement, not caring for the curious eyes being laid upon them.

Sebastian frowned. Personally, the child had never seen even a glimpse of what a fight would look like. A sheltered boy that he was, his eyes had never laid upon things that were considered "unnecessary and an eyesore". His brother's words. Now that he looked at it with his own ruby eyes, he couldn't help but pity the lady that was now crying helplessly on the pavement as the man kept on mouthing words that the child had never heard of. As seconds passed by, the decibels of their voices raised, and unconsciously, he held the other child's hand tighter than needed.

"S'basti'n?"

Black tresses swayed as he turned, his mind jerked back to reality when he met those blue eyes. "Hm?" He leant on the window sill lazily and he moved slightly as his classmate inched closer to what he considered his "personal space".

"S'basti'n has been silent for long. Ar'you 'lright?" Ciel's head tilted to one side, he had let go of the other boy's hand and was now a little _too_ close for comfort, knees now propped up comfortably on the backseat, shoes littered unceremoniously on the black carpet as he pressed his slightly sore forehead on his. "You're all red an' pink."

Before Sebastian could retaliate to recover his shocked state, Ciel had already hollered to Rachel, eyes suddenly filled with child-like worry as he nearly bawled, "Mummy! S'basti'n's gots'a fever!"

Rachel suddenly turned to the backseat, her shifting slightly strained due to the seat belt, "Sebastian? Is that true? Come here. Let me check your temperature, sweetie."

Sebastian inwardly winced. No one had ever called him that before, let alone a teacher that he barely knew, but he followed nonetheless, leaning towards the chestnut-haired woman's hand.

Rachel hummed, and Vincent glanced at his wife and looked at the rear view mirror for a split second, "Well? How is he?" He turned the car towards another corner, his left hand on the gear and the steering wheel on the other.

Blue eyes flitted closed and she hummed, "Well, he's a little warm. How about this," she turned to Sebastian once more, "I'll make you a glass of milk with honey later on to make you feel better! It always works on Ciel when he has his colds. How does that sound?" She clapped her hands, and he barely nodded. The teacher smiled, "Great. Look forward to it, okay?"

Sebastian mustered a smile, yet a thought suddenly racked him "Um—Miss Rachel. I 'pologize for this but... uh..." A pale finger pointed towards the woman's direction, "Y'just said th'wrong term for Ciel."

Four different pairs of blue eyes looked at him, and there was a sudden pang of silence.

And Rachel was the first that spoke up. "I did not say anything wrong about my son, Sebastian."

Vincent nodded as he returned his eyes on the road, eyes dancing with mischief, "That's right, Sebastian. She did not say anything wrong about the boy."

Charles piped in, oblivious to what his little brother just said, "Yeah, they said nothing wrong to the little cutie boy—although, I thought at first he was a girl, I realized that "she" was a he when I hugged him. Sure, it's still small since he's still a child, but it will grow someday!" He beamed happily, not caring for the words he chose.

Rachel stifled her laughter, and Vincent smirked, while Ciel fought off the blush taking over his cheeks, whether from embarrassment from Charles' choice of words or from the wrong judgment of his gender, they would never know.

"Told you so," Ciel mumbled.

And suddenly, Fate seemingly turned away from the five-year-old boy.

Silence. Out of the blue, there was a shrill yell coming from Sebastian Michaelis.

"S'basti'n? Are you 'lrigh'?" Ciel shrieked worriedly, and he slowly leant towards the child, ready to feel his forehead, like the way his mother did to him every time he was sick.

Sebastian unconsciously flinched at the slightest touch from the other boy, and he instantly regretted it the moment he thought he heard sniffles from Ciel. "C-Cie—"

"Waaah! M-Mummy! S'basti'n h-hates me!"

All the while, Sebastian fidgeted in his seat and tried to calm Ciel down, and Rachel found it to be amusing. "Now, now, dear. Don't say such things! Sebastian meant no harm and he might just be trying to—"

"No!" And another pitch of wails was heard.

"We're here!" Vincent cooed; he had to put up his best "happy voice" if he wanted the incessant crying to stop.

Ciel ceased crying as soon as he heard Vincent. His eyes still prickled with tears, yet the child smiled despite it all, temporarily forgetting the reason he cried in the first place.

Charles opened the door for the little boys to get out, and Ciel took the offered hand rather giddily, with Sebastian grunting and pouting as he refused his stepbrother's hand. "Now, now, mega little mini-Seba. Just because little mega mini-Ciel over here is a boy and not a girl that you thought he'd be doesn't mean that you have to give him the coldest shoulder on the face of the earth."

He rambled and lectured Sebastian. It seemed that he didn't care at all that they were in the middle of the pavement. Vincent suddenly had the urge to prod his family to the safety of the bakery.

Yet, the Phantomhive family just stood there in front of the door, waiting _patiently_ for the owner to finish rambling. The elder Phantomhive didn't want to be rude.

"—now apologise to him, little boy!"

Sebastian only pouted, his tiny hands clenched into tiny fists, ready to grab a tissue to wipe his nose.

Ciel hid behind the barrier that was Vincent's leg. Ciel's minuscule limb reached out to Sebastian's, and they flinched and shied away once more.

Sebastian didn't retreat his hand, as Charles thought he should have done, but instead, it defied the blue-eyed child's wish to leave him and his tiny hand alone with his father's leg as his sanctuary.

Ciel pouted, but it was a cute pout, one that would say, "you-look-cute-when-angry" kind of pout. And Charles fought his will not to tackle the child there and then.

The teen's phone then rang, the melody of "Star-Spangled Banner" filling the air. He answered it, and he talked in whispers. The Phantomhive couple inadvertently heard the names "John" and "Charles".

While he was talking, Charles Grey failed to notice the pink-dusted cheeks of his beloved brother as he said his apologies to the other child still hiding behind his father's leg.

"Wut?" Ciel stuttered.

Apparently, when Sebastian said those two small words, it fell on a noisy honk of a car. Thus, the words failed to reach the tiny Phantomhive's dainty—and pierced, as Sebastian realised—ears.

Ciel was still peeking from behind, wrinkling the brown fabric further, but Vincent failed to notice it as he looked at the previously honking car now being slapped with a ticket for over speeding.

Unconsciously heaving a sigh, he looked down at his son. The child's right hand clung at his poor, now wrinkled, pants. But the left one was now awkwardly holding the sleeve of the other boy's shirt.

He watched as his five-year-old son finally let go of his father's wrinkled pants, and Ciel touched the pale cheek of the red-eyed child.

Ciel. His son. Vincent Phantomhive's _only_ son. Was holding another boy's face in his hands.

He deemed it as a "no harm done" situation. They were still tiny tots who knew nothing of the cruel and malicious world yet, so everything remained fine. Once they were old enough, they would realise this as a time when they were still free, not bounded by any hounds in the forms of eyes and lips whispering in the dark corners seeking evil intentions on their actions. Vincent thought as so—and when he saw his son pinched the either side of the other's boy's cheeks, the looks on their faces painted the innocence Vincent wished he still had.

Ciel laughed.

Ciel laughed. He laughed as Sebastian fumbled with his poor, battered cheeks, trying to speak through blabbing lips. Ciel's joyous laughter filled the air, and the other women on the street that held their daughters' hands looked at the scene as they passed by, noting that it was an adorable sight to behold.

Vincent sighed.

At least he wasn't the only one thinking such things.

He just hoped that that type of behavior won't broaden to something scandalous once they grow up.

He paused—and killed his train of thoughts.

_N__o_, he was not thinking of the time in his life when he and his friend-for-life Diederich almost did things unspeakable. And _no_, he was not thinking of the time when Rachel saw them in such an unspeakable situation. And definitely _no, _he did not think of the fact that his then bride-to-be was, in fact, to his horror and curiosity, smiling and blushing like he had done the most wonderful thing in the world.

But the question that mattered most to him at that time was _why_ she did nothing against him and his outrageous behavior.

Vincent pursed his lips thoughtfully—sometimes, he wished he were a mind-reader, just for the sake of seeing the thoughts of his lovely wife.

"So, what do you little mega minis want? Strawberry? Mango cake? Or perhaps, all of them?"

It was the ever-energetic Charles that broke his thoughts as his wife pinched his cheeks.

As Vincent was about to speak nonsense about pinching people's cheeks out of the blue, Rachel beat him to speaking. Of course.

"Vincent, dear. Don't space out like that. Not now that the children have made out."

Vincent nodded and sighed, "Yes, I know. Now that they—" _______________________What? _"They just what?"

Rachel giggled as she punched her husband's shoulder with much force. Needless to say, the strength of her punches was all thanks to his sister Frances who taught her the art of self-defense three months ago, claiming that she "did not have to be so clingy when Vincent is around".

"I see Vince is becoming quite deaf these days. What I meant to say was Ciel already forgave Sebastian!"

"Uh..." He blinked, "Right."

"Who wants cake?" And once again, the over-energetic Charles broke the awkward and unwanted silence. Vincent jolted with a start at the happy-go-lucky albino's—as what Vincent now mentally dubbed him as—proclamation with his sing-song voice.

He received a gentle push from Rachel as he let his feet dragged inside the bakery, with Charles and the children following behind.

"Welcome to Dulcis Rus!" Charles exclaimed happily as he twirled towards their newest (and probably future regular) customers of his bakery. He was met with a wide-eyed Rachel and a stiff-faced Vincent. When it came to scrutinizing a new establishment, Vincent would always become serious when needed to be.

He stepped aside and put his arms akimbo, grinning his best, "I rule!" smile towards the couple. "What do you think? It's cool, huh? I built this bakery myself!" He suddenly stopped smiling and put a thoughtful finger to his chin, "Ah, but I wasn't the one who designed this. My bestest friend designed the whole place. Pretty neat, huh?" He put his hands behind his head in a lazy manner, oblivious to the twitch of the elder male's left eye.

Generally, Vincent would get irked whenever a person slurred his beloved language of British English. The only exceptions were his son, and his wife, whenever she baby-talked to their Siberian husky, Pluto_._

He frowned, and he broke into a real smile when he saw his son eating blueberry cheesecake that Charles made (or so he was told). And beside the tiny child was Sebastian who was quietly eating a devil's food cake with grace and an air of nobility just like any noble should.

Vincent sighed. If only his son weren't so carefree...

"Mummy! Daddy! Have some cake!"

Then again, Ciel's carefree nature was his greatest charm.

Charles Grey, meanwhile, cooed and doted on his little brother with the cake. "Here little Seba, say 'ahh!'" Yet Sebastian hated being treated like royalty, despite him being a part of royalty himself. Hence, when Charles saw his little brother eating the cake, Charles couldn't help but feel a twinge of pain as he looked at Ciel's family.

Those red eyes had been watching the child and his family since the beginning. And Charles knew. He _always _knew.

Sebastian shook his head fervently—absolutely refusing to open his mouth for the cake that dangled in front of him. He should have just chewed on the cake whole, but that would look like a disaster, seeing that the cake was brown, and not to mention sticky, and lastly, he'd look undignified in front of the kind and gentle Phantomhives.

Why was he stuck with an overly-doting brother again?

Burgundy eyes shot open as he felt and_ tasted_ the sinful creation that was in the form of an innocent slice of cake.

He thought of pushing that offending hand away (he wanted to eat the cake on his own), when he felt a tiny hand crumple his little black shirt. Sebastian's eyes shifted to his left and saw the twinkling, saucer-like roundness of Ciel's lovely and pure blue eyes.

"Don'you like th'cake, S'basti'n?"

Charles cooed at Ciel's unparalleled cuteness. Sebastian pouted at his brother.

Sebastian whimpered and his lips quivered at the sight of an almost nearly-crying Ciel. The child absolutely refused to ask the reason _why_ he was about to cry. Again.

The child's tiny and fragile hand tightened his grip on the black fabric, refusing to let go.

And it took a while before Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, his tiny lips forming a small "o" to let the air in his little lungs. "I… like th'cake…"

"Then why don'you ea'it?"

Sebastian's hands trembled even more, as proved by the plate of cake on his little and pale palms. "I—"

"You see here, mega mini little Ciel, mega mini little Seba hates being spoiled. He wants to do things all by himself and wouldn't let anyone get in his way," Charles piped up, ignoring mega mini little Sebastian's not so mega mini little glare.

Ciel tilted his head, his ears chewing at the information being fed to his still developing brain. His tiny fingers temporarily loosened their hold on the black shirt, "S—poi'ed?"

The white-haired teen smiled and almost gushed at his cuteness, "Yes. Spoiled."

Ciel bit his lower lip and inched closer to the smiling teen, "Whats'a… spoi'ed?" As Charles was about to explain further, the blue-eyed bundle of joy bounced at the tiny balls of his feet, his hold on Sebastian's shirt forgotten as he exclaimed rather happily, "Is it a type'o candy? C'n I ea'it?"

Charles stifled his laugh. Really, why couldn't his cute and adorable little brother be more like Ciel? His innocence was like a gift from nature. He shook his head and smiled at the still bouncing child, "No, Ciel. Being spoiled is _not_ a food. Or any type for that matter."

Ciel's world-blinding smile fell short at the teen's explanation; the poor child couldn't seem to grasp the concept at all. In times like these, Charles did the best he could do in this situation. He had experienced it many times at the hand of his faithful partner in crime.

He gave him another slice of blueberry cheesecake.

"Ah!" And Ciel was in heaven once again.

Elegant lips laughed at the tiny angel's affectionate behaviour towards his little brother as the child tried to coax Sebastian to eat a forkful of his cake, refusing to eat a bite unless he took a bite first. Charles shook his head and whispered to himself something along the lines of, "He'll never eat that even if you try."

But behold, Sebastian Michaelis opened his mouth to welcome the heavenly piece of confection, earning a squeal of joy from Ciel.

Charles the Earl of Grey was proven _wrong,_ by a _child_ no less! That _never _happened.

The only one that proved him wrong (for once) was his best partner in crime.

It could only mean one thing.

"S'basti'n! Y'hav cake on'ur nose!"

"Ah! I ca'wipe it m'self!"

Definitely one thing.

"There! I go'it off! Tee hee!"

"I told you I ca'do it!"

Charles looked at the Phantomhive couple. Unfortunately, they weren't looking. The two of them were looking at a portrait of two boys holding fishes. The teen shook his head and looked at the children once again.

He just hoped he was wrong for once.

* * *

"—And then Finnian found me behind the bushes!"

And they broke in laughter.

Charles was the first to stop his mirth, taking a few puffs of air to breathe properly, "Hearing that makes me want to be a child once again!"

Apparently, Ciel's point of view regarding his school day seemed to lift the mood of the Phantomhive household. If Ciel was happy, then the whole household was happy. If Ciel was sad, then the occupants of the house would make sure they would bring back the smile of that child so closely kept guarded from the world.

Vincent and Rachel, Ciel included, insisted that Charles and Sebastian "must have dinner with them so that Ciel won't be sad." Vincent's words.

At first, Charles had declined (while Sebastian played with a stray tabby kitten he found at the gates of the Phantomhive mansion); but after seeing Ciel's pouty and glassy-eyed look, who can resist that?

So they sat at the vast garden of the Phantomhive house, eating the finest buttered cookies and drinking the finest peppermint tea courtesy of the Phantomhive butler, William Truffle Spears. The man himself never liked his middle name—he blamed the name of his pastry-sounding lineage. He tried omitting it in his résumé when he applied for the Phantomhive estate. But since he applied for the _Phantomhives_—Vincent managed to dig out the information regarding the full name of the butler slash cook.

William stood by his master's side, like a pole, silently eyeing their guests. His first impression on the albino teen was that he was a spoiled brat, as to what he referred most of the teenagers nowadays. And in regards to that child with him, he's fine, he mused.

Except for the fact that the child liked cats a little too much. He frowned. The young master was never the type to hang around with felines. His immune system was too weak when it came to allergies and the like, so William made sure that no feline entered the confines of the mansion. But this child defied all those laws.

_"Woof!"_

William sighed.

The Siberian husky was another problem. He despised dogs and cats in general. He preferred owls. Owls were silent. And they were only active when once night arrives. And best of all, they never cause allergies to the young Phantomhive.

"The dog licked me!"

Yes. He very much preferred owls.

"Ah! Pluto!" And the child's laughter filled the vast garden of Phantomhives, along with Sebastian's wails of horror when the husky tried to lick his cheek again. It seemed to have a liking to the child.

A new bond was formed as conversation passed through the nobles' lips, watching with joy as they looked at the tiny tots running about in the grass, chasing both the feline and canine in a friendly fashion, along with the occasional chastised words of caution from Rachel.

Vincent chuckled as he glanced at the still smiling Charles. He hummed in silence as he closed his eyes and spoke, which made the young earl stop his laughter altogether.

"…So. How did you meet Sebastian?"

* * *

In the Language of Flowers, there blooms a lesser celandine, which symbolizes "joys to come".


	6. Spruce Pine

**Exsequor**

* * *

**Summary: **_Ever since they were little tots, through thick and thin, he had loved him. Up until their dying day, he loved him. That will never change._

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**CHAPTER SIX: Spruce Pine**

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_"Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need." –Hebrews 4:16_

* * *

A calm yet awkward silence fell upon them—the tittering of joy and laughter from Sebastian and Ciel's untainted lips served as their background music. Pluto joined in the melody, too; delighting Ciel to no end and making Sebastian wail with utmost horror towards the canine. He was almost bitten by a dog before, after all. William simply stood by his master's side, already content just by listening to the children's voices; though he could feel the thick tension that wrapped itself around the occupants of the table, he paid no mind. A butler remained a butler and no one else.

After what seemed to be aeons of time, Vincent cleared his throat, and his coat suddenly felt even more uncomfortable that it used to be this morning. Rachel merely hummed, her azure eyes watching her joyful son and her equally joyful friend. She pursed her lips on her teacup, the curves of her mouth widening the slightest as she secretly smiled while drinking her beverage. And here she thought that her new student might be a loner! He was very much capable of laughing and smiling just like her adorable son.

"Well… I found him in an alley being beaten up by men in black leather jackets two years ago."

Rachel and Vincent were suddenly thrown out of their restless thoughts, and they could only stare at the white-haired teen, aghast written on their lovely faces.

The couple looked at each other warily, definitely not expecting _this_ kind of explanation, they looked as though they knew what the other was thinking.

It was then that Rachel looked at Sebastian once again, he was now holding a band-aid and by the looks of it, he just put it on Ciel's forehead. And as though that was not enough, the child placed another kiss on Ciel's still sore forehead. The blue-eyed boy immediately pouted and turned his head away from the other boy, and away from the curious eyes of his mother.

She smiled.

"That child was beaten up by grown men? What kind of deranged mind would do that to a _child!?_" Vincent inadvertently raised his voice upon hearing such a cruel thing, standing abruptly as he did so. The Phantomhives were known for their charity work at orphanages and philanthropy works, and he loved children. Such madness would be intolerable—

Unbeknownst to him, the children's interest was piqued as they looked at the man that just yelled.

Rachel coughed, placed her hands on her lap and silently scolded her husband with a single stare. Vincent got the look and sighed as he ran a hand through his moonlight-kissed hair, and he sat back on the chair, mumbling apologies to the little boys.

With a blink, Sebastian shrugged it off as he twiddled his tiny fingers through the stems of white flowers that Ciel gave to him. He had asked if he knew how to make a wreath. Sebastian had nodded an affirmative, and so he was now making flower wreaths, entwining his fingers on leaves and stems. Some of the white petals fell on his pale thighs, yet Ciel's interest shifted back to Sebastian and the flowers, his small palms spread on the newly-trimmed and slightly damp grass, eyeing the pollen on the pale fingernails with cat-like curiosity. His knees were leaning on the green blades, blue sneakers silently sliding on it as he felt the band-aid on his kneecap being peeled off just the slightest, but he paid no heed, and continued to watch his friend with his flower wreath.

Sebastian silently sighed as he entwined the stems with one another; his pollen-littered fingers struggled through petals and leaves, trying to make a perfect circle to fit on Ciel's head. Sebastian welcomed those ever-curious eyes, not minding a bit even if his hair blocked the midday London sun.

Charles gulped down his tea and breathed the fresh air from his surroundings. The couple apologised for being rude regarding the teen's (and Sebastian's) privacy. He smiled behind his napkin as he dabbed the excess droplets of peppermint tea from his mouth. Light blue eyes stared at the couple, noting how he, too, wished he had such loving parents like Ciel had.

"It was nothing. And no, you weren't being rude. I was about to tell it to you anyway," he shrugged. And the couple heaved a sigh of relief from that.

Charles breathed a withheld breath of his own as he set down the napkin on the pristine white table and intertwined his fingers. "And to answer your question, Sir Vincent, I… never knew who those men were. The only thing I knew was that his eyes were originally brown when I picked him up that day. I saw it myself when I cleaned the blood from his eyes. They were honey-brown."

The Phantomhive couple gave the red-eyed child a worried look. Not that Sebastian could see it as his eyes were intent on the wreath he was still trying to make. That type of eye color was unnatural—unless Sebastian was an albino. But the boy was clearly not.

And Charles spoke on, breaking the couple's line of thought, "But after three months, his eyes changed color bit by bit…" He bit his lip and played with his thumbs, "He was only three years old at that time."

Rachel couldn't help but gasp. Vincent's shoulders went rigid, his chest held high in uncertainty as he asked, "What happened to that child? Moreover, _why, _how?" He certainly had never heard of people's eyes suddenly turning color in a matter of time, but then again, anything was possible nowadays… wasn't it?

The earl nodded and raised his palm in front of him. Vincent went silent.

"The boy… When I brought him to the doctor after the day I saw his eyes turn dark, he…" Charles paused to lick his lips in an attempt to calm himself, "He said—the doctor said that the child's eye color will never be the same. That in time, he might go blind because of the broken nerves in his eyes…"

A gasp. Rachel held back her tears, "But he's so young!"

Charles could only nod.

He fumbled with his thumbs. His feet rocked back and forth repeatedly beneath the white chair. He was restless. "Those men—they repeatedly hit Sebastian's face until his eyes bled. I remembered when I picked him up, he was weightless, and wet from that putrid blood. H-he was so _helpless._" Charles's eyes stung as he recalled that day's events. He remembered the child's everyday struggle of stinging eyes—which got worse day by day, as told by Sebastian's constant whining, stating that his eyes felt on fire.

Charles looked at his brother and the angelic Ciel. Sebastian was now putting the wreath of flowers on the blue-eyed boy's head. And Ciel welcomed the newly-plucked life in his hair. Sebastian had let go of the flowers and watched Ciel twirl under the sunlight, and the blades of grass beneath him danced in delight. Ciel stopped and waved at his parents. They waved back. He turned to Sebastian, still awestruck at the smiling boy, and he held out his hand, which Sebastian took. And they made their way back to the table, with Pluto and the little tabby kitten following them closely.

Ciel continued to drag Sebastian, the wreath of Sebastian's handmade accessory sitting atop of Ciel's head like it was meant to be that way. Sebastian smiled to himself as he saw Charles waving back at them rather excitedly. And Sebastian beamed.

"Mummy! Daddy! S'basti'n made me a flow'r wreath!" And Ciel abruptly let go of Sebastian's hand, and he showed the circle of flowers to his parents.

And Sebastian was happy.

He was still relishing the warmth of that tiny hand when Charles smiled at him and ruffled his jet black hair, "Did you have fun?" And Sebastian smiled and nodded enthusiastically. Charles kissed his forehead, "Good. Do you want to stay over here for tonight?"

For a second, Sebastian thought he was dreaming, that any minute he would wake up in the cruel waves of reality. And yet, when he repeated his brother's words in his mind, it sounded calm. It wasn't until he turned to look at Ciel and his parents—and he realized it was real.

Ciel squealed as he grabbed Sebastian's hands once again and twirled him around once more, giggles and laughter swelling from those pinkish lips.

Sebastian felt happiness pouring from those tiny and fragile hands and those blue eyes.

The adults smiled at the little boys—but behind those smiling faces was a secret so painful that they could not help but cry inside.

And they inwardly screamed to the heavens that Sebastian _should_ make it through.

"Yay! S'basti'n gets'ta stay!"

…All for Ciel.

* * *

Night had fallen in London, and children were now quietly tucked into bed, Sebastian and Ciel, too, as they have played for too long outside the estate.

Ciel's tiny limbs were wrapped around Sebastian's equally tiny limbs. Their breaths mingled, their cheeks dusted pink, a rare sight for the pale Sebastian. William had wrapped the blankets around their forms, but it seemed that Ciel managed to kick it off at some point. They were dressed in nightclothes fitting for their hair color, courtesy of the Phantomhive maid, Angela. She seemed to have a thing for arranging clothes in color mode, especially when it came to changing Ciel's wardrobe. Rachel and Vincent would never know if it was just a habit of hers, or she just liked the young Phantomhive too much.

Rachel's motherly love was not contained until she had touched her son's midnight locks. His face was calm and contented, the bony fingers' hold on Sebastian's tightened and would not let go. And when Rachel had tried to pry his hand away from Sebastian's, Ciel's face scrunched up in distaste, as if being denied of candy. She smiled and had let him be.

"Let's leave the children for now, shall we? At this rate, Ciel will wake up." It was a gentle chide from Vincent, and his wife complied. With a final kiss to Ciel's forehead, she turned off the lights, and they left the room, leaving the door ajar.

The clopping of their shoes served as their music.

"Mister Charles?"

"Yes? Oh, Madam, please, just call me by my name. I feel old when someone calls me that," he laughed.

She clapped her hands, "All right. Um. _Charles._" The way she said his name without a title sounded quite foreign to her. "About our conversation earlier—"

"Oh, Rachel! Let the teen be! The siblings have suffered enough!" Vincent complained.

Charles laughed and shook his head, "Calm down, Earl. I'm saying what I want to say out of free will. And I trust you two enough that you won't tell anyone of my brother's condition, especially Sebastian."

And the two were silent.

A sigh. "Now then, should we go to a place where no one will hear this?"

* * *

Charles, Vincent and Rachel were now seated in the parlour, talking about the alarming series of events that happened earlier in the principal's office. Rachel talked about a silver knife that Sebastian had tried to hide behind his shorts while he was with Ciel, and Vincent calmly coaxed Charles to explain why the five-year-old possessed such a thing.

Charles reasoned that he taught Sebastian how to fight back when cornered—a method of self-defence.

Yet Rachel would have none of it. "How could you do this to a child of _five__?_ Of only _five years old__!_" she screeched, unbefitting of a lady.

And Charles told the couple that he needed to teach Sebastian the ropes of defending himself—in case anything should happen to him and no one was around to save him.

And Rachel could not respond the slightest.

Vincent on the other hand, thought that it was a sound decision, much to Rachel's horror, and he stated that if Ciel were to experience such a thing, Vincent would, by all means, teach everything he knew about self-defence to Ciel. All to keep him safe.

"If Sebastian hadn't done that in the office earlier, who knows what could have happened to Ciel?" It was a rhetoric question, and Rachel didn't dare to answer her husband.

Rachel bit her lip, and a question kept on nagging her mind since the day that the strange man known as Baron Kelvin had taken over the Principal's Chair.

"Why did you let him in our lives if you know that he does detestable things to children?"

"I assume that this man is important to your status as of now," Charles finally concluded.

Vincent nodded, "Yes, it is as you say."

"And because of that, you have taken him under your wing."

Another nod.

Charles sighed and closed his eyes, resting his hands upon his lap, "And so I assume you wanted my little brother to protect him when the two of you are not within their sights."

Vincent nodded.

And Charles accepted wholeheartedly, much to Vincent and Rachel's surprise.

"I accept that Sebastian should be the one to guard mega mini little Ciel."

* * *

Charles and Sebastian ended up staying over at the Phantomhive house. While Sebastian slept soundly beside Ciel in a cozy bed, Charles stayed up all night talking with the kind Phantomhive couple.

Rachel talked about the servants that served the Phantomhives.

William Truffle Spears (Rachel liked calling the man by his middle name) could make the best cakes and tea one could think of while maintaining a "serious business" face all the time. Ronald Knox, the gardener, was more prone to hyperactiveness than the Lady. He seemed to have a certain fondness for the lawnmowers he used in the gardens; so far, he hadn't shredded the tulips that Rachel loved. There was also Angela, Rachel's personal maid and also Ciel's dressmaker from time to time. She could be a bit of a nervous maiden, but with the right words of praise, she could exceed anyone's expectations. Angela always treated Ciel like a little brother, and that was one of the reasons why Rachel kept her under their wing. And lastly, there was Tanaka, the steward of the house—a very kind old man, and rarely spoke unless spoken to, and he always had a light laugh that oddly resembled Santa Claus'.

Rachel and Vincent loved their servants, and they vowed never to replace them should they grow old and wrinkled. And Charles could only laugh at the way Rachel described her staff. It was soothing, so to speak. He rarely heard anyone so keen on making their employees as happy as possible without any evil intent on their minds.

As Charles contemplated about his thoughts regarding the kind couple, he heard a muffled shift from his right side. He looked, and laughed.

_"Lady Ciel..."_

Rachel tittered with delight and clapped her hands silently, fearing that she might wake up the children. Vincent only snickered.

* * *

Morning came.

Needless to say, there were a number of people that disliked the morning sun, the sunrays, the lazy feeling of forcing yourself up to leave your possessive bed and nice, warm comforters just to face another day.

William Truffle Spears was one of those people.

Eight in the morning. Saturday. The sun peeked from the mountains of London to awaken the people of England. And William Spears was not happy.

The midnight-blue silk curtains were parted by stiff, white-gloved hands. William winced and squinted as the sunrays hit his poor, unprepared eyes. An index finger realigned the stems of his precious wire-rimmed glasses, taking note that he would have to replace them in a few months.

"Young Master. Master Michaelis. It's morning."

He stiffly patted the two, tiny lumps heaving steady heartbeats. One child was facing the sun, scrunching his face as he turned over, and he faced another sleeping child.

They finally woke up when William cleared his throat, and the first thing the children saw was each other.

"Ah!" said the blue-eyed boy.

"Ah!" said the red-eyed boy.

And William sighed once again.

"Good morning, young sirs," was the butler's uptight response. After hearing no reply, he poured them some warm milk tea, along with Ciel's favorite breakfast, hand-sized pancakes topped with honey and butter. William had asked Charles last night of what they would prefer next morning, and Charles had only answered with, "My mega little mini brother always likes macaroni salad for breakfast. _Always._ Oh! And I want uh… those strawberry scones, oh, and I want oolong tea for tomorrow. Good night and thank you!" And before the butler could ask what type of drink his "mega mini little brother" would like for the next day, he had been met with the face of the hard mahogany door. How utterly _rude._

And so he prepared two cups of milk tea (dashed with honey) for them. After an awkward cough from the silent man, Ciel beamed at the other child.

"G'morning!"

And said other child blinked at the _brightness _of it all.

"Uh… G'mornin'."

William heaved yet _another_ sigh, as he placed a small table on the bed, along with the delicacies that he had painstakingly made just for them, "Yes, good morning, masters. Today I have prepared your favorite hand-sized pancakes topped with honey and butter, Young Master. And Master Charles said that you would like macaroni salad for breakfast, so I have prepared it for you, Master Sebastian." As he explained today's breakfast, the children ate their meals hurriedly; when the butler noticed it, he stopped talking altogether. He then watched the boys with a stiff stance as he stood, waiting for the childish and unrefined actions that would inevitably make the sheets messy afterwards despite his quiet words of warning.

As Ciel chewed on a forkful of pancakes dipped in honey, his ever curious blue eyes shifted to the contents of William's trolley. There was a white cloth, two forks and spoons, two butter knives, a pot of milk tea, four more layers of pancakes (lest Ciel tumbled his pancakes, _again_), a bowl of cherries and strawberries (lest the children might want some), two pristine white napkins, and a jar of nice, cold water. There was nothing new to those sparkling blue eyes. His gaze shifted to the far right of the trolley, and there, hidden by the jar, he saw red. And those blue orbs twinkled with excitement as he gazed upon a nice can of—

"Is that whippy cream, William?" The hint of mischief that was hidden within the boy surfaced as soon as he set his eyes on the nice, red can of what he assumed was whipped cream.

William stiffened; his hands that were placed on his sides suddenly grew cold as he silently prayed to whoever might listen to his fervent prayer. He refused to answer his young master.

"William, 'm'asking you."

gulped and internally screamed inside '_no_' his head. "…Yes."

And his unprepared ears were shattered by an ear-splitting squeal from the young boy. Sebastian, who was eating his macaroni salad in peace, blinked at the sudden noise that his classmate just made. William visibly cringed as his mind was thrown into overdrive and punished himself by mentally banging his head on the wall for answering the boy's question.

A month ago, the child had seen a can of whipped cream. He had Angela, Ronald and Tanaka to help him with the mess the child made throughout the mansion. On the walls, on the carpets, on the shiny windows, on every mirror in the house, in the library, in the music room, on the white and red roses that Rachel had in the garden, on Pluto's _nose_, on the chairs, in the parlor, in the bathroom, on the bed sheets of every room in the house (the servant's rooms included), on the laptop screens in Vincent's study room, on the portraits in the hall, on the banisters, on the earpiece of the telephones and cell phones alike, and on every faucet available in the mansion, there was a nice, fat glob of whipped cream.

All because of Ciel.

Thinking back, the only way the child stopped spraying whipped cream on every surface available was to have the can completely empty. Ciel had refused to give it to anyone, including his parents, saying that doing the deed was fun. That was the only time that Vincent chided his son. All it took for the child to give up the empty can was a cold smile and a poster of a clown. Ciel always hated clowns. They scared him to death more than thunders. Rachel had provided a clown to come over (which was actually just Ronald in disguise) and the clown had lectured him on the evils of randomly spraying whipped cream on every thing that those innocent eyes laid upon.

Ciel had cried that night, screaming in his room that the evil clown will get him in his sleep.

The whole household felt regret the next morning, when a sleepless Ciel refused to leave the safety of his bed, and kicked (his first violent reaction) any servant that came near him, Tanaka excluded. William remembered he had been kicked right on the groin, and stopped himself from yelling obscenities to the child. The last thing that he wanted was to get kicked out of the Phantomhive house and face his older brother with the ever present scowl, saying things to him like, "How could you be a butler if you can't even take care of a young child?" or maybe even, "If you are a real butler, you must have endless patience!"

How he loathed his brother for making him enroll in the butler school.

"—lliam?"

Really, must that person be so… so uptight that he must follow his footsteps?

"William?"

And sure, he owed the guy for purchasing every pair of eyeglasses that he needs (he couldn't see without them), but really, he has a life!

"Williaaam!"

And what's with that buzzing noise?

"Truffle-waffle!"

William blinked.

And looked down.

Ciel and Sebastian were staring at him with wide eyes, and on their hands were suspicious dollops of…

"Whipped cream…?"

He was only answered with a "Yup!" from Ciel.

"N-no, you shouldn't touch that, Young Master."

And the ever present passive face returned as he took away the can of the child's amusement from sticky hands.

And said child wailed. Apparently, despite the clown that lectured him on that day, he didn't give up on his love for whipped cream.

"Waaah!"

It was proven.

Right before he could sigh once again, the other child yanked the can away from William to give it to his classmate. Ciel brightened up instantly. The red-eyed child then glared at the tall man in front of them, "Y'made him cry!" And with that, the sticky substance of whipped cream landed on the stoic man's stiff waistcoat.

And William's right eye twitched.

Oh, how much he disliked children.

* * *

"Heeey, what happened? Picked a fight with the flowers again? What's with that ugly hand mark on your coat? Didja got tied up Pluto's paw prints?" The gardener said all of it with in one breath as he laughed. After the encounter with the young guest, Sebastian was instantly placed as third on William's "I Dislike These Persons" list. Another child was on the second place, this… Grell kid. William could tell that the red-haired child would grow up to be a nuisance to society. When he had first come to the house along with Lady Rachel's sister, Lady Angelina, he knew that the child would be trouble. He had tried to take away Pluto by dragging with him with a belt that he placed on the canine's neck (Ciel had wailed when he did that), he had tried to take away Ciel's precious toys that his father's company made just for the future earl, and he called William a "stiff-pants pansy wuss". That fumed the man. Even though Ciel had his times that he was on "mischief mode", that green-eyed imp, as the butler dubbed him, could never compare.

"Heeey—Talk to me, will ya?"

But then again, he never forgot that Ronald Knox remained first on his list.

"I'm talking now," the butler said begrudgingly. Ronald laughed once again, his hold on the whirring lawnmower tightened as he made his way to the grass, now ready to be trimmed. William could never understand the man's obsession for lawnmowers. He only shook his head, not caring that the gardener was now _hollering_ something about, "Be clean, little grass, be cleaaaan!"

He wordlessly made his way to the servant's quarters to change his coat. That little red-eyed child managed to get a huge handful of whipped cream on his precious coat. After much whining from the children, he had called Tanaka to take over. Maybe the child wouldn't be that rude as to stuff the old man's coat with the cream.

Along the way, he saw Angela bending over something in front of her bedroom door. Curiosity taking a hold on himself, he went over to the maid and looked at the thing that she was currently cuddling close to her chest. William suddenly felt blood rushing to his cheeks, not that he would ever admit it.

He coughed awkwardly, and the maid suddenly turned her head to look at the man that was standing stiffly by her side. She then gasped.

"Oh! Mister Truffles!"

William only groaned at the pet name.

The butler inwardly sighed and put on his best passive face, fighting away the tiny blush that threatened to mar his pale cheeks, "Why do you have that in your possession, Angela?"

The silver-haired maid (though she was only 22), in turn, patted the mewling kitten on her bosom and placed the kitten that was now snuggling comfortably on her apron-clad lap. "I found this little one near the young master's bedroom. I thought she was hungry so I gave her some powdered milk. She seemed to like it very much!" And she patted the kitten once more.

William blinked and looked at the kitten snuggled on the maid's apron. He rearranged his slipping eyeglasses from his eyes, and with a monotone voice, he commented, "But isn't that kitten the one that Master Sebastian held yesterday? The one with Pluto?"

With that, Angela gasped; it went unnoticed by William, whose eyes were fixated on the tiny paws of the little kitten. "You mean this child belongs to Master Sebastian?"

William only blankly nodded, eyes still on the tiny paws.

Angela scrambled to her feet in haste, the kitten startled and was now clawing desperately on her arms. "The poor child must be worried by now! I'll return her to him!" And she rushed off, leaving William alone.

He shrugged it off as he went to his room and changed into something that was not sticky and disgusting to his skin, grumbling something about children and their silly games.

* * *

As Angela rushed towards the main hall, Sebastian and Ciel bawled as they ran towards the vast dining hall, informing the Phantomhive couple and Charles about the missing cat. Once that the adults have calmed the children down and agreed for a search party for the little kitten, Sebastian stopped crying and sniffled, trying to jog his memory for any indication on where exactly he left the feline before he was tucked to bed by Mister Truffles.

"U-uh… I weft him 'nfront'f Ciel's door. Truffle-waffle told me not'ta put her on th'bed. So I weft her in front of th'door last night."

Ciel then spoke and wailed at the same time, "Then William woke us this morning an' gave us breakfast an' S'ba'sti'n wiped whippy cream on his coat an' he left an' Tanaka came inside an' changed our clothes an' he took th'tray with whippy cream an' we got out of th'room an' Tab'tha was not there an' we searched for'er an' we can't find her an' then we saw you an' then we asked you if you knew an' now that you dun know we'll now go to find her again an'—" Ciel was silenced by a dainty index finger that belonged to Rachel's. How the child managed to say all of that in one breath was something that Vincent interpreted as something that Ciel inherited from Rachel.

The lady hugged the children and tried to soothe them, and Charles piped up in a very chirpy manner, "Maybe the kitten was eaten by Pluto?"

A gasp was heard.

The children went silent for a millisecond.

And they cried harder than ever.

He held his hands up in defeat and apology as the Phantomhive couple glared at the teen, "Okay! I'm sorry, Madame and Monsieur!" He then pouted as he stood up and went over to the crying children. He put a hand on the crying boys' heads, taking note in his mind that the tops of their heads were warm. Had they been searching in the garden?

With a reassuring smile (and a silent apology to his stepbrother), he gave them two cups of ice cream (vanilla-flavored), "Before we go on a search to find Lady Tabitha, you two should re-energize yourselves!"

They ate. After that, the search for the kitten will commence.

* * *

In the Language of Flowers, there blooms: a spruce pine, which symbolizes hope in adversity.


	7. Saffron

**Exsequor**

**Summary:** _Ever since they were little tots, through thick and thin, he had loved him. up until their dying day, he loved him. that will never change._

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN: Saffron**

* * *

_"When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways." –1 Corinthians 13:11_

* * *

It was a quaint Saturday morning, where everyone was in their tip-top shape in performing their tasks and leisure-filled activities beneath the brightly shining sun.

But somewhere within the manor of Earl Vincent Phantomhive, there was a boundless energy that shone brighter than the sun.

Ciel and Sebastian ran down the vast hallways of the manor, zooming past the displayed vases and the paintings and portraits hanging on the walls. From the large glass windows of the mansion, Sebastian could barely make out Ronald, who was having a fun time trimming the grass with his lawnmower. Somewhere in the garden, Ciel could almost make out the loud barking of one lively Pluto.

The boys called out to the Phantomhive couple and Charles, who were trying their best to catch up with the energetic children. Charles chewed another piece of melon as he followed Sebastian, and Vincent and Rachel laughed as they ran after Ciel.

"This is the first time we have done such a healthy exercise since last year!" hollered Vincent, puffing as he ran, and he accidentally inhaled little particles of dust, and he sneezed. Rachel laughed.

"Yes. Yes, we haven't done this for so long," Rachel replied, and she looked back at Charles and called out to him.

"Yes, Miss Rachel?" Charles huffed as he swallowed the piece of melon, and Rachel giggled.

They turned to a corner, their slightly prickling feet mimicking the steps of the little boys that ran and laughed at the same time.

They were in a frantic search of one missing kitten—as they promised earlier—and they ended up having a well-spent time of getting a good day's worth of jogging indoors.

"I'm glad you stayed over."

Charles answered with a smile, "Of course!" Another huff of breath. "It's not every day most people nowadays get to exercise like this with their kid and brother! Let alone have fun with them too!"

They laughed.

They sprinted towards where Sebastian and Ciel ran off to—back to Ciel's room.

"We're here!" Ciel exclaimed with much joy despite laboured breathing. Sebastian stopped and knelt as he took in puffs of needed air and wiped the tiny beads of sweat that possessed his pale forehead.

For a split second, his eyes saw a flash of white and red splotches—and he hastily blinked them away and shrugged them off.

Charles and the couple stopped, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Finally," he breathed. Vincent, with another deep breath of air and a swipe of his forehead, looked at his son with a tired yet joyous face, "But now that I think about it, we should've just—" Pant. "—walked towards here, right?"

Rachel giggled, a handkerchief now made its way to her face, damping it on her forehead and neck bit by bit, "But Vincent! You have to admit that you had fun while running!" She sighed as she fanned herself with her pink nails. And Vincent could only choke out a laugh as he heaved and simply nodded instead.

The blue-haired child stood on his tiptoes as he turned the knob with clammy hands, smiling as he did so. He opened the bedroom door—and squealed.

"S'basti'n! Mummy! She's here!"

And little Ciel ran towards his high and fluffy bed, and stood on his tiptoes as he stretched out his arms towards another pair of arms cuddling the little feline. "Giv'er to me, Angela!" he said so with a smile. The maid knelt in front of the boy, cupping the kitten sleeping soundly in her hands.

"Tab'tha!" Sebastian also squealed at the sight of the tiny feline, and later clamped his mouth shut as soon as he saw its sleeping form.

Angela put a finger to her lips as she smiled, "We must not wake her up, sirs. She is sleeping." The maid then looked at the door, and she bowed slightly with embarrassment as she stood up from the edge of the plushy bed, "I'm sorry, Master Vincent. I-I should go back to my chores—"

She was stopped with a palm raised lightly. "It's all right, Angela. Really. But… How did you find her?"

The maid glanced at the kitten sleeping soundly at the foot of the bed, and her eyes swayed to the floor, with her hands in front of her, "She ended up in the servants' quarters somehow. I found her in front of my door."

And in unison—except for the children—they mumbled a single, "Oh."

While they talked, the tiny tots tried to clamber on the bed, with Sebastian helping Ciel hop on said bed—two tiny hands supported the blue-eyed child's little bum and gave him a push with an "oomph". When Ciel was safely on the bed, he then stretched his arms to help his friend and support his weight as tiny feet tried to scratch on the fabric.

And Sebastian landed on Ciel's face, a flourish of blush spreading on the boys' cheeks as they stared at each other.

The scene suddenly seemed quite amusing when the four people looked at the children.

"Oh, Vince! They're so cute!" and Rachel clapped her hands once again as she giggled while looking at little Sebastian scampering away from the little Phantomhive's limbs.

"'M sowwy!"

"'Ts 'lright. Oh! Kitty!"

And Angela knelt in front of them and apologized to the children, yet Sebastian and Ciel merely brushed it off with wide smiles, and their attention returned to the kitten, large eyes fixated on the twitching and folded ears the feline had.

Angela observed the children, and idly, she thought she was in trouble for neglecting her chores just to feed a kitten, yet Vincent had merely smiled it off. It occurred to her that the Phantomhive family had never once gotten angry to their only child, even towards their servants. And for that, she had grown to love the household she was serving in, and she would never replace it for the dingy dungeon that she was in six months ago. She was now away from that filthy man who had captured her and her beloved little brother. Her sweet, sweet Ash.

She apologized to Vincent once more, and again, Vincent brushed it off with a laugh, "Oh, we'll never get angry at you, Angela." And Vincent went over to Ciel and promptly lifted him up over his shoulders, delighting in the way Ciel squealed. "Angela is your favourite servant, right, Ciel?" And Ciel merely spread his arms wide, imitating a bird of sorts—a raven, perhaps?—and the child nodded as Vincent asked him, happily proclaiming that she didn't want Angela to leave.

Rachel giggled, and teasingly chided Angela, "See, Angela? Ciel doesn't want you to leave—so please stop thinking such things, you might make him cry!" And she smiled as Angela bowed to Ciel, apologizing for making him worry.

But Ciel only laughed as he was put back on the bed, bouncing playfully on the mattress, and he giggled. The feline on the bed meowed, and was now trying to friskily swipe at Sebastian's tiny index finger; and he giggled when the kitten licked his fingertip with a scratchy tongue that all felines have. Ciel followed his actions, and he giggled and cradled it to his lap (the scratch on his knee cap was now gone, and only a faint trace of the mar on his skin remained). Sebastian followed the kitten's tiny body, and petted it on Ciel's lap, making the cat purr.

And the children laughed.

* * *

Today was a Sunday—it was the day that Vincent promised that he would tour Sebastian and Charles around the academy.

"—Yup! And then Sebastian laughed so much he spat his orange juice on the table!" Laughter. A pout.

"I… It's not m'fault I laughed! 'Twas funny!"

"And so was your face at that time."

More laughter.

And Charles was too happy on munching another chocolate bar he bought from a generous vending machine.

Through the kindergarten building, through the pre-school building, through the primary school building, secondary school, college and university buildings, no place was left unseen. The cafeterias, the music rooms and the clubs of each building were seen, and the brothers were happy. Charles, for the first time, interacted with a couple that could be his own elder brother and sister (or in his mind, he wanted them to be his parents). And little Sebastian, for the first time, interacted with a classmate of his gender, and laughed merrily at jokes and stories, something that he had never done in his previous school.

And before they knew it, it was already five o'clock.

They rested and ate at Charles' bakery after that. The Phantomhive family met Charles' best(est) friend, Charles Phipps. And as Vincent expected, he was the exact opposite of the feminine and hyperactive Charles they knew. This Charles was all buff and muscle, and was as silent as the wind and only spoke when needed. Then again, Rachel and Vincent only smiled, opting to keep their unspoken thoughts to themselves until they return home; and Ciel, after introducing himself to Phipps, returned to Sebastian to feed him some of the mango cake that the smaller Charles had given to him.

They talked until night, until the customers flourished and left one by one. And all the while, Sebastian and Ciel fell asleep on the tiny bed in the kitchen.

When it came the time that they should return home, Vincent and Charles tried to coax Ciel into waking up, but to no avail, as he was being tightly held by a soundly sleeping Sebastian, who mumbled a soft "m'bride" as he scrunched his nose and wrapped his leg around Ciel's.

Rachel giggled from the adorable sight of it all, and she took the challenge to gently wake up her son without disturbing Sebastian's sleep—after all, she wanted her son to sleep in an actual bed, plus, it was getting really late. Yet, her efforts seemed fruitless, as Sebastian only tightened his hold on Ciel for every nudge that Rachel did.

And so she did the next best thing—waking up Sebastian instead.

A grumble was his reply, and he further buried his little head on Ciel's face; the latter didn't seem to mind the intimate contact at all. Most of the times, when someone would wake Ciel up, he would get all flustered and would try to scamper away from the touch. But this boy…

"Sebastian, please wake up. Ciel needs to go home."

Sebastian opened one of his red eyes slowly, his vision trying to get accustomed to the cruel white light. And as if an automatic response to Rachel's request, his reply was a mumbled, "No."

"Aww, why not?" was Rachel's reply, accompanied with a childish pout that seemed to go well with her behaviour.

Sebastian held Ciel closer and buried his face in those midnight locks—inhaling the scent of chamomile on the soft strands, "I wan'Ciel."

At that moment, Rachel thought it was the cutest thing.

* * *

A few years passed, they were now in fourth grade, bustling and tittering to their heart's content as they had their annual field trip.

This year they were in the United States of America.

They were riding every available ride they could see, and raiding any available cotton candy stands they could see, not minding the long line that they were in.

"Disneyland is fun, isn't it, Sebastian?"

"Yup."

The students and their parents toured the theme parks. Some of them, who have left England two days ago, have been very eager to visit America. Even the children who were not of middle-class and noble birth have the right to go to America, as long as they were students of the academy. The excited tots asked numerous questions about the cultural difference of the land of the free—some questions were answered directly by Vincent and some of the teachers, and much anticipation soared inside the plane.

Vincent and Rachel laughed as they saw their son clinging onto Sebastian. Their baby talk had slowly diminished throughout the years, thanks to proper education and strict pronunciation lessons. The children were now both nine years old. And in and out of their classes, the two were considered inseparable. Sebastian followed Ciel like a shadow, and possessively held him every time. Ciel didn't mind his presence. In fact, he _loved_ his presence, and he was happy every time the boy was nearby. And they have grown now—

Albeit Ciel remained shorter than Sebastian for three inches. Ciel didn't seem to mind, though. Vincent commented that Ciel inherited his genes from Rachel, though the latter said Ciel's height was just adorable as it was. Charles agreed with Rachel, saying that "mega mini little Ciel had become cuter than his not-so mega mini little Seba." And the Phantomhive couple laughed.

On their way to one of the rides, Ciel saw an ice cream stand and happily dragged Sebastian to it, and Charles obediently followed them. The silver-haired man ordered for the children—it took him a really long time to decide a flavour, openly saying he was disgusted at the sight of a garlic ice cream written on the menu (he even blamed the Americans for the weird choice of flavour)—and Sebastian settled for a green tea ice cream instead, as the line behind them was getting a bit too long in a matter of minutes, thanks to Charles and his pickiness.

Once they have eaten their choice of treat and have met up with Rachel and Vincent, who were sitting on a bench with three cups of chocolate in their hands, Charles chirped and happily asked Ciel to lead the way.

A toy store was their next destination, and Ciel was exuberant when Rachel suggested that Sebastian should have one, too. She asked what Ciel wanted and her son replied, "A puppy-stuffy."

Sebastian, on the other hand, wanted a kitten stuffed toy, to accompany his cat when going to sleep.

They bought their respective toys. Ciel purchased a Siberian husky stuffed toy (_"For Pluto!"_), courtesy of Rachel and Vincent; and Sebastian purchased a tabby stuffed toy cat, for Tabitha (courtesy of Charles' money).

"It's so soft and fluffy! I'll name the stuffy Sebastian!"

"Eh? Why?"

Ciel beamed, his blue eyes shining sparkles with delight, "Legend has it that if someone names a stuffy toy after their favourite person, they will be with that person forever!"

"Forever?"

"Yeah!"

Sebastian then stared at his stuffed toy, its black beaded eyes staring at him with a soft look on its face, "Then I'll name this kitty Ciel." As soon as he said that, he heard Ciel giggling.

"I'm a kitty! Meow—!" Ciel mimicked the pawing of a cat, and it made Sebastian blush.

* * *

In the Language of Flowers, there blooms: a saffron, which symbolizes mirth.


	8. Musk

**Exsequor**

**Summary:** _Ever since they were little tots, through thick and thin, he had loved him. Up until their dying day, he loved him. That will never change._

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT: Musk**

* * *

_ "A true companion is loving all the time, and is a brother that is born when there is distress." –Proverbs 17:17_

* * *

Much exchange of laughter and stories were told by Ciel to Ronald, who was in charge of taking all the calls to the house when the Masters are away.

Pluto repeatedly barked and wagged his tail beside him, as the husky knew that the gardener was talking to Ciel on the other line.

The boy talked about giving Pluto a new toy, and the gardener was too enthusiastic to deliver the news to the canine, who instantly wagged its tail. "Pluto says hi!" Much giggles were heard from Ciel, and the child greeted the dog. Ronald was about to tell Ciel another story about pumpkins, but the sound of shuffling and the sudden voice of a deep baritone instantly made him go mute.

Vincent would always check up on the manor whenever went away with his family, and today was no different—though the sound of an awkward laugh from Ronald made him suggest otherwise. And the sound of static and a surprised yell was heard. Vincent yanked the phone away from his ears and winced, "…is everything all right over there, Ronald?" And he heard a muffled grunt on the other line. "Ronald?" Silence. "Are you there?"

More grunts, and then, "...Yes, I'm right here, sir."

Vincent sighed as he dabbed his handkerchief on his brow, "Could you please tell me _what_ just happened over there?"

Ronald gulped, unsure on how to phrase it. He bit on his nails and chewed on them and glared at the cause of his current distraught. "Well... Pluto kind of ran into me... and he smashed one of the vases you bought from Rome—"

"He what?"

Another pause. "He broke th—"

Ronald's sentence was cut off with a sigh from the other end, "It's alright, Ronald, no need to get fussed about over a broken vase. I could always order another one. Just make sure Pluto is in gardens after this." A hasty, "Yes, sir," was his reply.

The gardener fumbled with his uniform's cuffs while holding the phone on the other hand, and just as the silence couldn't get even worse, he heard static on the phone again, and this time, it was the lady of the house's voice.

"How's my dear Pluto? He didn't get a scratch, did he?" And Rachel was on caring-too-much-for-Pluto mode as she riddled Ronald with words he could poorly understand from the words she mumbled in a hasty state. He could barely decipher what the lady was saying until she hurriedly said something along the lines of, "Let me speak with my baby!"

Ronald only sighed.

_Women._

* * *

Ciel whined at his mother, pleading him to go and sit beside Sebastian, once prodded enough by a giggling Rachel, she let her child be, and Ciel sat with Sebastian on the plane.

It had been a week since they were in America, and now they were to return to England. Ciel, for one, begged that he needed to satisfy his sweet tooth, so Vincent bought him three large bags of sweets, as he knew that his son would share them with Sebastian—they both like candy corn too much.

Vincent and Rachel observed their son carefully from their seats, and they talked about how Ciel really needed to catch up with Sebastian's steadily growing height. Vincent idly joked about how his son still wasn't growing up literally, and Rachel took it as a light-hearted offense, saying that Vincent's words might hold water, and it might come true.

Charles, upon overhearing the couple's conversation, decided to intervene and commented how, despite Ciel being small, he would still be the cutest among his classmates—and Rachel whined childishly about her son's unfortunate height. Charles laughed, and he ate another pastry, as he had been doing for the past two hours. Not even the stewards and the stewardesses could convince Charles to put the large bags of food on the compartment above his head. The stubborn man had put up quite a fight just to eat his snacks—no one ever messes with my food, he had said to a stewardess passing by.

He looked at Rachel and Vincent with a smile, "He's just the cutest little thing! And with that, I'll be able to call him mega mini little cuddly Ciel forever!"

Vincent sighed and smiled, idly commenting that his son won't be 'little' forever, and Charles laughed, saying that until then, Ciel would always be "mega mini little Ciel", and that someday, he hoped that the child would become as tall as Vincent.

"Very well said, Charles," he chuckled.

Ciel blinked every now and then at his parents and at Mister Charles while clutching onto Sebastian's arm. He pouted as he looked towards those scarlet eyes, "Hey, what are they talking about?" The nine-year old looked away from the window to look at his companion, he had thought that the sky could never compare to Ciel's eyes of blue.

"Who?"

"I thought I heard my name," he then pointed to the laughing adults across from them.

Sebastian laughed, "Brother must be talking about you again, you know how he is." He then patted Ciel on the head, like a cat. His hair was really soft, that's why. He reminded him of Tabitha. The child wondered how his cat's doing back at Mister Phipps' house.

Ciel pouted as he nuzzled his head on Sebastian's shoulder, liking the feel of the black leather on his skin, "I want to grow tall too, you know." He mumbled it, but the other child heard it all too well.

He leant his head on top of Ciel's hair and smiled as he closed his stinging eyes, "I know."

And behind his eyelids, he saw flashes of blue and green mixed together. _I know._

* * *

They returned home, and the servants welcomed them back. Pluto immediately ran towards a squealing Rachel, and welcomed the canine with open arms and a series of baby talk that no one in the house could ever understand. Plus, the husky was now licking her face while barking happily at every word Rachel said, and Vincent mentally winced as he commented that Pluto was now a ful-grown husky, and Rachel merely chided him offhandedly with a pout. Vincent laughed.

Ciel tugged Rachel's pants, "Mummy?"

"Yes, Ciel?"

The child smiled, "Can I go to Sebastian's house?"

As though cued, the doorbell rang and echoed on the walls of the mansion. Ciel's eyes lightened up and answered it immediately with a smile as he opened the door.

"Sebastian!"

He hugged the boy so tight that Sebastian toppled back a step with a shocked look on his face, but quickly recovered as he hugged back—bathing in the warmth of those two little arms, "It's like we haven't seen each other for ten years, eh?" Ciel's reply was a giggle.

"Sebastian, what brings you here? Where's Charles?" Rachel asked. Throughout the years, Rachel took care of Charles like the little brother she never had. She cherished him.

"At home putting all the food on the table and the fridge."

The couple laughed. "How typical of him," Rachel giggled.

Sebastian smiled as he looked at Ciel, who was clutching onto him yet again like there's no tomorrow. "You forgot your stuffed toy in my bag." Ciel merely hung his mouth as he took out the Siberian husky stuffed toy from his bag. "You left it," he said.

"When?"

"When you were clinging onto me on the plane."

Ciel tilted his head as he stared in those black beaded eyes of the toy, "How did it end up in the bag?"

Sebastian only shrugged, "Dunno." Really, Sebastian didn't know how it got there. It just did.

As Sebastian was about to wave and go back to his home, Ciel tugged at his sleeve, "Want to stay over?"

"Ciel, I _always_ stay over at your place, just let me get Tabitha."

And the boy beamed, "Okay!"

Rachel only smiled. _The only thing that's missing is for them to get stuck at the hip with super glue. Tee hee!_

* * *

"Ciel?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think we'd be friends forever?"

At this, Ciel turned from his side of the bed and looked at where Sebastian's curious face should be if he weren't looking at him in the dark. Sebastian had insisted, yet again, that he should stay with Ciel for the night. And Charles was too happy oblige, while the boy's parents only laughed.

"Of course!"

And Sebastian sighed in relief.

The blue-haired child felt the bed shift, and before he knew it, a slender arm came wrapping itself around his form, along with another sigh as he felt his friend inhaling the scent of his nightclothes.

"That's good, then."

Ciel tried to look at Sebastian's face through the dark, but seeing as it was futile to do so, he only smiled as he pecked his forehead, he had to heighten his sense of touch for it, and he was proud to kiss the right place.

But what the lovable child didn't know was that Sebastian suffered in his hidden pain.

Those eyes closed. The colours swept through his vision.

* * *

"Good morning, young sirs. Today, we have mint tea and potato salad, along with butter tarts and three sticks of pocky like you requested last night, sir," William set the plates on the brown table on the bed and straightened himself as he adjusted his eyeglasses.

Ciel pouted as he looked warily at the tarts—and eyed them with distaste, "It's filled with raisins again, isn't it." It was not a question—it was an accusation. Like most children, he hated raisins with a passion—they look like teeny cockroaches without antennaes, he had once said.

The butler bowed as he remembered his young master's words regarding the fruit, "I apologise, Young Master, but it was Master Vincent's request to add this in your food for today."

Ciel pouted further, "You know I hate raisins."

"It's for your own health, Young Master," William replied. _The young master is one of those mood swings again, I see. Note to self, never put raisins on his diet unless asked._

Ciel pouted as he poked the tart with a fork and gave a piece of it to Sebastian, "Do you want one?" Sebastian, as soon as he heard Ciel asking him, looked at him. At least, he looked at where his eyes were supposed to be.

"...Ciel?"

The boy smiled. _He might like the tarts, then!_

Sebastian's hand slowly inched around his classmate's currently occupied one. Once he had claimed what he was tremblingly searching for, he grabbed onto it tightly, making the tart and the fork fall on the blankets. And tears fell from his eyes as his lips quivered to find the words he dreaded to say.

_"...I can't see."_

* * *

In the Language of Flowers, there blooms: a musk, which symbolizes weakness.

* * *

Short chapter is short. A little trivia for you all, Sebastian's experience is my experience regarding his vision. Sometimes I get up in the morning and I would be blind for a good ten minutes, I see white and blue and green every time it happens. Sometimes it happens during the night. It's a scary experience; every time it happens to me, I thought, 'I'd be blind now, won't I?' I bawled the whole night when it first happened to me. If I were to be blind...

...I don't even want to finish that sentence right now.


	9. Optio et Judicium, Choice and Decision

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_"I can't see..."_

**A/N:** Medical information ahead. Long research is long. Also, as of this time, whole eye transplant is not possible. *Sigh* Oh, and as of 10/21/2010, this fic has 8,973 hits, 79 alerts, 80 faves and... 67 reviews. :I Keep the reviews coming! :D

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

It was Saturday. It was a day of vacation for the little tots in England. And yet it was dark for a certain child.

He could feel a shudder of breath from the shells of his suddenly sensitive ear. Like the calm calling of the ebbing sea, it soothed his four senses.

All he could hear was a scream. A high-pitched scream with a heartbreaking wail.

And then...

Nothing more.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

"Will he be alright, doctor?"

"Is my brother okay?"

"How are his eyes, doctor?"

"Will he _live_?"

The doctor—the eye surgeon, to be exact—was trying to calm the family of three, along with the brother of the patient, he assumed, only for his words to be cut off, and his reassurance to end in vain when the young boy finally cried in the arms of his mother. Apparently, when Sebastian shakily declared to Ciel that his vision had faded, Ciel couldn't speak and had asked him to slowly repeat his words. When he did so, Ciel then turned to William who immediately understood his young lord's voiceless order. He called for the master of the house, and also Charles. Poor, poor Charles, the only thing he managed to say to his young brother was to "tell him that it's not happening". The Phantomhive couple, in haste, then brought the child to the nearest, and also the best, optical hospital that they could find. Vincent had been secretly looking for the best hospitals for Sebastian since Charles told them the child's condition.

And since then, the Phantomhive household was in a total wreck on nervousness.

Once in the hospital, Charles—who protectively carried a sweating and crying Sebastian in his uncharacteristically unsteady and shaking arms—then looked for the doctor they had called on the way. He tried, oh, how much he _tried,_ not to cry and give his weak and fragile little brother to the arms for the doctor and beg for him to help regain his brother's vision. Vincent was able to calm him after the child was put on a stretcher and brought to one of the eerie and silent rooms, which was thankfully not an emergency room, considering the fact that they still not know the condition of the child. And Ciel was brought in for a reason, because the child was with him when the fading vision happened.

The doctor—after asking Ciel some questions—then proceeded to ask the still trembling and crying Sebastian on the cold stretcher, some questions along the lines of, "When did this happen; does your eye hurt; did you tell anyone about this?" and other questions that seem to rush in and out of Ciel's consiousness, like the ebbing tide of his blue eyes. The only thing he could think of at that time was for Sebastian to get alright, and nothing else. It was unfair, he had thought, that Ciel has a perfect vision while his best friend lied there, all blind and weak to the world around him.

Ciel suddenly felt weak, every ounce of his tiny body breathed liquid fire of desperation to save his friend, anything, _anything_ at all, just to save him.

"Will he live, doctor?" was the child's question once the interrogation on Sebastian's condition was over. The raven-haired boy was still in the room Ciel and the doctor left him in. They had moved to another room, one that is welcoming to the eyes at first glance, one that has green mint walls and the sickening smell of antiseptics filling the air. Ciel managed not to choke at the scent.

The doctor, a middle-aged German with blond hair and a goatee, sat uneasily on his swivel chair, his hands were clasped together on the newly-disinfected table, and looked at the young child in front of him, who was still sitting on Rachel's lap.

"He will live, little one."

And Ciel was about to sigh, to heave a weight he had been carrying for the past few hours, until the doctor spoke once again.

"But I'm afraid he'll never see again."

And Ciel's world stopped.

"What?" It was the voice of Charles, the poor and _still_ trembling stepbrother, who had spoken their reactions.

The medic bit his lip and took hold of a model of an eye from his right side, his palm was a bit sweaty when he touched it, but he didn't mind it at all as soon as he explained further.

"The retinas of both of his eyes got detached."

Rachel, who was looking left and right aimlessly, looked at the eye model in front of her, "What do you mean, doctor?"

Dr. Romisch Greis, as the name tag on his coat said, cleared his throat before continuing. He detached the eyeball model in half and pointed to a red part inside it, "Our retina, which sits at the back of the eye, sends pictures and surroundings to our brain, you see. It is held firmly by blood vessels and neurons that channels from our optic nerves to the brain. The retina is like a postage stamp, or rather, its size is _like_ a postage stamp, which is small if you think about it." He poked the thin film of pinkish red with his finger, the thickening accent of his native tongue was slowly being shown the more he spoke, German and English accents mixing together, "It is very thin, thus, our retina is delicate." He looked at the couple and the white-haired man, who nodded nervously, before he continued, "Should our retina... _gets torn,_" as though for emphasis, he peeled a bit of the thin film of the model and put it back with care using the tips of his balmy finger.

"Water, or how we eye doctors would like to call, the vitreous gel, can get behind the retina and it can _accumulate_ through time. Should that happen, it, meaning the gel that fills the inside of our eyes, can be the cause for the retina to slowly _detach_, from the tissues of the eye, and it can cause the blindness that, should I dare say, we all dreaded for."

The four people in the room were as silent as the wind, neither moved, nor breathed.

The doctor sighed and moistened his chapped lips, the hold on his eye model was slowly slipping, and so he held it firmly in his grasp, refusing to let it go until his explanation is quite finished.

"Usually, only one eye can have a retinal detachment; but in the child's case, you see..."

Vincent's hands quivered on his lap, words being tongue-tied at the tips of his pale lips, struggling to find the words he dared never to say, and before he knew it, his voice leapt in between his mounds, "He has _both_ of his eyes' retinas detached?"

A grave nod was the doctor's reply.

And Charles wept.

"My dear, _dear_ brother... No..."

His silent sobs filled the room, it would have been louder had his hands not been on his mouth, and Ciel watched in silence with a gloomy look reflected on his usually joyful eyes. He is still young, only nine years old, but he accepted the knowledge being fed to him like a professional. He had to be strong, all for Sebastian. Some of the words were deep, he _had_ to memorize them for further research at hom in his father's library.

Ciel's vision was being blurred by the oncoming waterfall of tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, despite the fact that he kept telling himself to be strong, he could never help it. His poor, poor and _precious_ friend, blind.

"Will it have a cure?"

All heads turned to the source of the voice.

It was Ciel.

Teary blue eyes gazed pleadingly to the gentle eyes of the doctor.

"Can Sebastian be cured, Mister Doctor, sir?"

And for a moment, the German remembered why he became an eye surgeon. He smiled, a tight-lipped one (and also fought with the onslaught of tears), and patted Ciel's midnight blue locks, "Yes, little one. He can be cured."

Charles then looked up, not caring for the stains of tears that marred his pale face, "How?"

Dr. Greis smiled and inwardly heaved a sigh as he took out a pamphlet and placed it in front of the twenty-two year old, "In it are the possible treatments for your brother. The first one," He pointed on the black swirls of ink on the glossy parchment, "Is the scleral buckling."

The young boy twisted his tongue and tilted his head, his eyes locked on the German's lips, and tried to produce the same sound the doctor just said, "Sc... Scl..."

"Scleral, little one."

A pout, and then, "Scleral."

"Good."

The doctor returned his gaze to Charles, "The scleral buckling is the process of identifying the tears or holes in the retina through a microscope or a focusing headlight." His hands swayed in a few gestures of his own, the movements of his hands were being followed by a pair of royal blue eyes (scrutinizing as always, much like his father), "The surgeon will then seal the tear with a laser. The sealing of the tear is permanent, thus, no liquid shall pass to the retina. Now, the scleral buckle, which is made most of the time with silicone, will be then sewn to the outer wall of the eye, which is called the sclera. The buckle will then hold that piece of silicone in the sclera so the hole will then be pushed against the wall of the eye."

Charles nodded—but blocked some of the words for some reason—as he looked at the piece of paper with the image of an eye drawn on it.

The doctor then pointed to the next option on the paper with his finger.

"Next... is the pneumatic retinopexy."

Ciel was silent, his brain cells tried to retract the words that was just uttered. _Reti... something._

Rachel moistened her lips, the taste of her cherry-flavored lipstick tickled her tongue, as she looked at the pamphlet with a curious stare, "That procedure is almost the same as the scleral buckling, isn't it?"

The doctor nodded and chewed on his lip as he scrunched his chin and scratched it, "Mm... Well, yes, I suppose you can say that. The only difference in this method is that the surgeon will insert a gas bubble inside the eye's cavity to push the detached retina against the sclera. And," He pointed on the paper again and looked at Vincent with a mouth that resembled a circle, "It has a lesser cost than the scleral buckling."

Charles began to fold the glossy material of parchment in half, and fold it back again to reread its contents, "What is the catch?"

The German sniffed a huff of air as he leaned back on his chair and played with the eye model for the third time already, a glimpse of hurt shown in his waning blue orbs, "The patient would have to position his head, most likely while looking down, in order for the procedure to be properly placed. I don't recommend it for the boy, though, it would be uncomfortable for him." He shook his head in emphasis and placed the model of the eye back on its place near his right, and looked at the flustered young man with a sincere gaze.

"I would never want my little brother to be uncomfortable as he already is."

The blond smacked his lips, hands now slowly turning back to its normal temperature, "Those are the only options I can give you right now, but... Let me ask you something, young sir. It has been bothering me for quite some time since I checked your brother..."

"—If it's about why our surnames are different it's because—"

A palm was quickly placed in front of him, and the German doctor continued, "That is not my concern, Mr. Grey. I could see he is adopted, I see no resemblance between you two at all. Uhrm. Well, my real concern, and I can see how much you would go to great lengths for the safety of your step-sibling—"

"Please don't say 'step'."

A pause, and then, "Alright. I can see how much you would go for the safety of your brother, but please tell me..." He took off his glasses and placed them near the piled papers on his left, and eyed the white-haired man with a serious expression, waning blue eyes locked with a puffy blue-eyed one.

The Phantomhive family waited with a bated breath.

"Did, how should I say this... Um, did your brother... did he have a previous injury or anything along the likes of it?"

Charles was stunned, "...Why?"

The doctor played with the rims of his glasses, and pondered the exact and proper words to phrase his sentences, as though the life of the child depended on it. And it _does._

"Well, as far as I can see it, your brother has little cuts on his eye, specifically, on his iris."

Charles didn't speak.

The doctor, yet again, reclaimed his hold on the eye model and poked the black circle of paint on the middle, "_This_, part of his eye is riddled with tiny scars that can only be seen with a microscope. The iris of his eyes are colored _red._ Now, as far as I know, the only persons who have this kind of tint on their eyes are the people who are born as albinos, who have this pinkish-red tint on their eyes."

Vincent looked at Rachel, then at the silent college student, he waited for him to speak, to utter anything at all for an explanation of sorts. But nothing came out, and so the doctor continued, "People originally have several colors of eyes, you see, some can have green, blue, like yours, or brown or black or—"

"He was hit."

The German looked at Charles, who had his head held down hidden from his curious gaze, "Pardon?"

The pale-faced man heaved a sigh filled with his anxious thoughts, and looked at the doctor.

And Charles Grey told and retold the doctor the cruel fate of the young boy of nine.

And Ciel could only silent sat on his mother's lap, with his mouth agape, certainly trying in vain not to absorb the words being drilled and cemented into his young brain cells and to be stored in his memory for years to come.

He had never known his dear, dear friend suffered all the while.

He never knew that that was how his "big brother" Charles met his closest friend.

And Ciel wept from the inside of his dying heart.

_Why didn't you _tell_ me_?

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

"—stian."

Silence.

"...Sebastian."

"Honey, please don't wake him up..."

"N-no..."

"He needs to sleep, Ciel."

A sniffle, "N-no..."

"I'm sorry, little Ciel, if only I told you this sooner then maybe—"

"—oisy..."

Silence.

"Sebastian?"

A silent groan was a reply from the shifting covers of the cold bed, "Uhrm?"

And two little arms wrapped themselves around the blind child's nape as said child sat up.

"Can you still not see?" was Ciel's introduction, and he was answered with a grave nod. Sebastian's eyes were set unknowingly elsewhere, trying to decipher where he and his friend are now, only to end in vain as soon as a blinding shade of gray and black flooded his sight.

"—m sorry."

He felt a shake of a head, strands of hair playing on his ghostly pale cheeks, as his friend uttered a mumbled, "—'ts okay," as a reply.

And nostalgia hit him, like an invisible thread that he shall never reach again. All mangled words and sylabbles were spluttered from their young lips, as though they were five years old once again. As though he could see once again.

He felt his world slipping from his slowly moistening eyes.

It took a second to realize that the water—the tears, as soon as he tasted it on his dried and numb lips—were his, but were also not his. It was shared. A shared grief between him and the one currently holding him like there's no tomorrow. Ciel had been crying, that much he could feel, but he could also hear other sounds—chokes of stifled cries and stifled sniffles—bellowing in the shells of his stinging ears.

His whole body hurts just hearing the sounds of crying. It reminded him of the times when his brother secretly bawled in the confines of his room late at night, when he thought he had already tucked his precious little brother in the warmth of his cat-designed blankets and coverlets. Charles never knew that little Sebastian would sneak away from his room and stalk his brother wherever he went, only to end up seeing Charles, the proud and obnoxious Charles Grey, _crying_, in his room, wailing like it's the end of the world. Sebastian thought his eyes and ears were deceiving him, that all of it was a hallucination due to watching too much of those dramas he has seen on television. But as soon as he saw the slight tremble of lips on his brother, he could swear he saw him mouth his name. On Charles' clammy and shivering hands, was a small crumpled up piece of paper. It was wet and marred and unintelligible from the seemingly endless rain of tears his stepbrother had poured on it. And Sebastian could only stare in a statuesque fascination.

He did not dare to ask about it the next day, and the next, and the next, and the next days after, and the following weeks, the following months, and the following years.

And as Sebastian wrapped his frail and trembling arms around the trembling mess of Ciel, he now realized what that little slip of paper was.

It was a doctor's memo regarding his condition.

And Sebastian hugged Ciel tighter than he had a few minutes ago.

"I'm sorry."

"D-don't be... 'Tshould be m-me..."

"Don't cry now, children. Don't..."

Rachel hadn't managed to finish her sentence as soon as a stern hand was placed upon her shoulder, and she did not need to look to see who it was. For the trembling hand and the cold ring were the only things she needed to know that it was her husband, who also wept for the young boy.

He is very young.

And he is already suffering.

"...Where am I?" he managed to whisper through the dark blue locks of his friend. He smelt of chocolate and bubblegum today, he had thought. How amusing.

Ciel sniffled and wiped his nose on his tear and snot-stained shirt, all the while never relinquishing the hold on Sebastian as he replied, "Back home, in my room."

"...I see."

There was a minute of agonizing silence, an awkward and unbearable silence, and then...

"...Where is my brother?"

Rachel bit her lip once again and raised a hand to her chapped and lipstick-stained lips to force herself to stop crying. _He is too young!_

Vincent stood up and clamped his lips before answering the child's question, "He is in the guest room."

"...Is he crying, too?"

A sad smile, and a wipe of a hand on his eye (it was dust, not a tear, Vincent thought with a choked sob), "...Yes." No need to beat around the bush now.

"...Alright."

And Ciel kissed his temples, and each eye, and cupped his face close to his own, "You'll see again, Sebastian. I swear it. I _swear_ it."

Vincent and Rachel, for the most part, were shocked. Sure, they have seen their son being affectionate towards the red-eyed boy throughout the years, a few hugs here and there, a peck on the cheek or on the forehead here and there, and lots of cuddling, but not this much. And the couple looked at each other, and back at their son and his friend.

_He loves him more than he should._

And Rachel couldn't fathom if she should be happy or sad.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

The sun came and went, and the stars and blue and black covered the heavens, along with the lonely and waning moon that watched on the sleeping people of London, content to give its share of light through the windows of every household. And yet...

Ciel couldn't sleep, and Hypnos couldn't make the child do a trivial thing such as for him to take even a ten-minute nap.

His eyes—which were straining to see through the dark—were trained on the vague outline of Sebastian's sleeping form. He had slept in early due to crying the whole day, although he had the time to kiss Ciel on the forehead and bid him good night, both of them knew that everything as of now was anything but "good". In fact, it was the worst.

_I swear I'll make you see again, Sebastian._

It was for another hour, two forty-five in the morning to be exact, that Ciel finally had a truce with his current enemy, Hypnos, the so-called "god of sleep". But before he closed his eyes and let Sleep take over him, he managed to clutch and kiss Sebastian, not on the forehead or on his cheek or on his eye, but a chaste kiss on the lips. Soft and warm, the child had thought.

And he stayed that way until the morning.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

It was a fateful Sunday morning. The sun rose from the skies and prodded London into another day, another sad and gloomy day. Although the sun greeted their faces, it was quickly covered with clouds, huge and grey. And it a matter of minutes, it was raining.

Not that it was any different, it _is_ London, after all.

"Today, young sirs, we have tapioca and Danish pastries for breakfast, and the usual bowl of cherries, of course, along with master Sebastian's favorite mac and cheese."

And William set the dishes on the table on the bed. He knew better than to greet them with a "good morning", when clearly everything is not "good". Ever since the announcement inside the house that their master Ciel's friend Sebastian has fallen blind, William became even _more_ detached than he already is. He feared the fate of the child, of what would happen between his master and his friend. There was a sickening itch at the back of his neck since the announcement was made, no matter how much he shrugged it off though, he suddenly felt the urge for the past to come back, for the times when Sebastian would play a prank or two at the stoic butler, for the times when William would gaze at those scarlet eyes. He had known the reason why they were red, he had heard it all too well since Charles had taken a part in the heart of the Phantomhives.

William felt regret tugging at his throat for not being able to be as nice as possible to the child when he could still see the world in blinding colors.

Ciel helped Sebastian sit up from the bed—he remembered how his lips felt cold when he shifted away from the child, and he prayed that William did not see such a thing—and he fed him (Ciel didn't touch his food until Sebastian was finished, much to the butler's dismay), to which the butler frowned upon, seeing his master fumbling and fawning over another person, it should be _William's_ job.

"Young master, your food is getting cold."

"I can do what I want, William."

The butler was strucked, it had never occured to him that the child would talk back, even to a servant. William was about to comment regarding the child's behavior until Ciel spoke up.

"I won't eat anything until Sebastian is finished eating."

"But I can eat just _fine,_ Ciel. Don't worry about—"

"No. I'll feed you, and that's final."

And Sebastian didn't reply after that.

William could only stare, his green eyes never wavering while looking at the young child. He could see Ciel struggling not to cry, and for once, William Truffle Spears felt a ripple in his cold heart.

It was love that the child had for the boy.

And the butler felt a tug on the edge of his thin lips.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

It was a fateful Sunday afternoon, where the clouds had disappeared and made way for the sun to reign the skies again.

The children were in the gardens, sitting atop of the newly-trimmed grass, still damp, but they paid no mind. Pluto and Tabitha were sleeping soundlessly near the porch, leaving the little boys to their little whims. Ciel sat with his legs crossed across from Sebastian, who was quietly sulking in the recesses of his mind. The blue-eyed boy weaved a wreath, one that he tried to make for Sebastian. He tried weaving the stems together, only for them to end up getting bent on too much force and were later snapped like a twig. He had collected quite a number of the little white flowers—almost leaving the bush that the flowers resided in barren—and he was sure that Ronald would buy another sack of their seeds later on. It was on the fifth try that Ciel finally managed to make a proper flower crown to put atop of his friend's hair, he was proud of his work, to say the least. All the years of seeing Sebastian doing all the wreaths for him had finally paid off, and it was time for Ciel to take over... for the meantime.

"There."

The garland was placed on Sebastian's jet black hair, and some of the petals fell on his locks, which looked like newly-fallen flakes of snow, to which Ciel beamed.

Sebastian smiled a smile of his own, pearly whites barely seen, as his eyes—glazed and dull—were cast towards the grass beside his knees, and those thin and seemingly delicate and pale fingertips danced on the tips of the flower petals, teasing, touching, trying to feel them on his heightened sense of touch, and when he felt a drop of a petal severe itself from the flower, the boy smiled and took the petal to his lips, kissing it affectionately once, hoping that Ciel was looking, which he is.

"Come closer," was his soft whisper to the petal, but Ciel knew what the other really meant.

And the blue-eyed boy came closer, until the tips of their noses were touching in a chaste distance, but not so chaste, a gesture of affection and trust...

In what seemed like a split millisecond, the blind child kissed the other boy's brow, and Ciel felt warmth on his forehead as the gentle press of the lips caressed his skin. And Ciel closed his eyes as he felt a hush of warm breath breach through his little ear.

"Thank you."

And Ciel was too glad.

And so the kiss was returned, on the cheek this time.

"You're welcome."

And all was silence.

Sebastian sat there on the now dried grass of green, his back against the bark of the willow tree that he grew to love through the years. The tree provided him security for some reason, an unknown feeling of nostalgia and euphoria, and he assumed it's all because of the boy currently lying on his lap. Ciel's head was gently resting on Sebastian's pale legs, his eyes looking into the sea of red above him. His thoughts drifted back to yesterday's events, and he wrinkled his brow as he remembered the look on Sebastian's eyes when he told him he could not see. The child's thoughts then drifted back to the kind doctor's words, that everything should be alright if a donor would kindly grace their presence.

_A donor._

According to Ciel's trusty dictionary that rests on the top of his dresser—which he faithfully reads whenever he has a word or two that he failed to understand—a donor is someone who gives something; be it money or something with a high value to those needing it, in this case, an _eye_ donor.

Ciel then glanced back to the pools of red, which were directed upwards to the tree branches and leaves, Sebastian's left hand never left Ciel's head, as he smoothed out the unruly strands every now and then. Blindly, the child had thought.

It would be nice if there _were_ donors willing to give a part of their eye—the cornea—to be exact. But as of this moment, there was none. Ciel briefly wondered how transplants happen. Or how they were even endured. Would there be pain? Or would it be painless? Would you be blind, too? He wondered.

_If he could share his pain with me, then everything would be alright._

"...Sebastian."

The one that was called, all blind and yet smiled that calm and content smile, tried to gaze his eyes to Ciel, only for his eyes to end up being guided to his chest, as Ciel would assume, and he tried not to cry. "...Yes?"

There was a minute of silence, neither had chosen to speak even as the winds danced on their lips.

He waited, and waited. What would his adorable friend want? A new batch of hard candies, perhaps? Or maybe he found a squirrel on top of the tree and wished to grab it? Or maybe it was tea time already? Or maybe—

"Share me your pain."

—What?

"...What?"

Ciel, determined to get his point across, suddenly sat up and knelt beside the befuddled boy, and cupped his face in between tiny and damp hands. "Share me your pain."

"What do you mean?"

And Ciel kissed the boy's lips once more, a chaste one, a hesitant one, and Sebastian was too stunned to speak of the action his friend just performed. And with no time to speak, the other boy spoke, stern and serious. And had Sebastian been _not_ blind, he would see the tears that flowed with pain and agony from the sea of blue that he loves.

"I'll give you my eye."

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

And the plot thickens. :D I love Kuroshitsuji Flele Ciel. He inspires me with his cuteness. :3


	10. Devotio, Devotion

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_"I'll give you my eye."_

**DISCLAIMER: **I forgot putting it on the last two chapters. :I

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

It was a fateful Sunday afternoon.

The leaves swayed and danced in the soft hushes and pushes of the midday London air—_hush, whoosh, hooo—_and tickled the branches and the birds on the highest peaks of the towering trees.

The garden was silent, save for a few hummingbirds singing and floating while taking a few sips of the sweet nectar that lies in one of Rachel's precious tulips.

All was silent.

And it was broken by a tiny voice.

"...What?"

He heard it all too well. But the boy had to hear it again. To make sure that his sense of hearing had not yet failed him and his slowly crying heart.

And the other boy crept closer to the blind child's grey shirt, clutching it with tiny and shaking digits as he sniffed—he smelt of licorice and dark chocolate, the boy mused—and sniffled at the same time, trying so hard not to cry in front of the boy that he considered his only friend. He refused to say it again. Sebastian has a sharp sense of hearing, he must have—_should have—_heard it. He knew the red-eyed child's thinking by heart.

Ciel knew he will refuse his offering.

"You can't do it."

Oh, how Ciel knew him all _too well._

And there was a bite of the lip, the lower one, and then the upper one, as the child with the eyes of blue clenched his orbs shut, willing away the droplets of tears that were slowly forming on the edges of his eyes. The fabric of Sebastian's shirt formed creases, but neither cared—and blamed everything on those evil men that sullied the child's sight—nor they have the heart to ruin their moment of silence.

Ciel's life was on the line.

Sebastian knew it.

"...But I want to do it." It was more of a thought for himself, rather than to the boy that he held close; and Sebastian had to stop himself from lashing out at the child, for what reason, he could never decipher it.

There was a kiss, on top of the boy's brow, and on his cheeks, and on his pretty blue diamond-pierced ears, and Ciel fought the flow of pinkish red on his puffy and boyish cheeks, with no avail as Sebastian giggled, knowing that his little friend would blush at the slightest display of affection from the lad.

He was not far off. Had Sebastian still had his sense of sight, he would have seen the minute pout and the blushing face of his friend, along with the struggle of trying not to tackle him and hug him again and again, just to let him know that he's special.

And Ciel, in response to the gentle kisses, reciprocated his childish love.

Unbeknownst to the little angels, a young woman giggled in her delight upon seeing such pure adoration. Hiding behind the canopy of trees—while also unsuccessfully showing the hems of her skirt—Angela smiled, one hand on her curved lips as her eyes laid on the, as her mistress Rachel would put it, "adorable and cuddly fluffy" scene happening just a few feet away from her. She was glad she had to water the lavenders at this time of day, if she didn't do the task, then she would not have seen this. Lavender is the only type of flower that her mistress never allowed for Ronald to touch, though she did not know why.

_I hope my brother will find someone as cute as my little master someday._

And with that in mind, she chuckled as she left the scene—with an empty violet watering can in tow, all damp from the water and sprinkled with bits of brown from the soil—and hummed a love song that never fails to put her mind at ease. Little did she know, that the boys' hearts cried in red tears despite the chaste kisses. She didn't see the drops of tears and mumbled words of, "I'll do everything to make you see again."

And the children from the gardens failed to hear a faint sound of a lovely melody, along with an amused giggle from a distance.

Angela didn't see the torment in her young master's eyes as she closed the door from the gardens.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

It was nighttime at the Phantomhive household. A time to rest as they say, as tomorrow would be Monday, another day to begin in the following morning in their respective areas, specifically, at work and at school. It would have been a time to rest, if it weren't for Ciel's simple request, an offer, for a friend—a friend that he loves with all his heart.

A love that should never be.

And that little heart plead and bled as he uttered the words he had been straining to say since dinner has started. It was one of the rare times that Charles and Sebastian did not come over for dinner, Ciel mused. Despite the fact that they live just next door, they always come over for dinner, _always._ Throughout the years, it has been their ritual that the stepsiblings should come over for dinner. Sometimes they drag Charles Phipps along, just because he's Mister Grey's best friend. The more the merrier, as Rachel commented on one time.

"I'll give my eye to Sebastian."

And his whispers for his offering fell on shattering ears and hearts (and plates), as three pairs of eyes—William included—widened at the little boy's sudden words.

As Sebastian had previously drilled in his mind, their guardians would never accept the child's words.

It seemed that it will come true, Ciel thought. Judging from the reactions he's currently receiving, they'd never let him give his offering for the boy.

"No."

And Ciel wept.

_I knew it._

Before the boy could shed a single tear for their decision, he was met with a pair of arms, soft and reassuring as the voice that accompanied with it. It was Rachel, and she too, cried for her son's wish.

"I could never sacrifice my son, even for the sake of his friend," she had said. And Vincent nodded as he wiped his mouth, with an air of grace, as any nobleman should.

William only stared in the distance, his face void of any emotion. An eternal statue. And his heart was kept hidden from the prying eyes.

Ciel nibbled his lower lip and bowed his head in hopes of hiding the tears streaming from his rosy cheeks—not from the temperature of the room, or from the pair of arms trapping him—and William decided to interfere by serving Ciel a slice of cherry pie.

The boy didn't even take a glance at it.

The air was suffocating, scratching their throats like knives on plates, screeching, waiting for a tiniest bit of a sound to pass their mouths.

The butler stood still, hands propped up neatly behind his stiff back, and waited for any noise, _any at all,_ to come out of his little lord's lips. The silence was killing him, to say the least.

And it seemed that his little prayer was answered, but the sound of a voice didn't come from the young boy's chords.

It was from his master.

"Your mum is right, Ciel. She could never—_I_ could never—let you give an eye to Sebastian. We could patiently wait for a donor and—"

"But what if there will be none?"

And there it was again, the insufferable silence that the butler slash cook has come to hate for the past few minutes. He loves silence, yes, but _this_ is just too much silence.

Something had to be done.

William coughed—a fake one, he might add—and bent low on his little lord's ear (_Insolence be damned!_), his nearsighted eyes stared in the little blue bead that was the child's earring, "Young master, your dessert will get cold, and the cherries I put in them will go to waste."

The only response he got was a sniffle and a wipe of his nose from the napkin on his little lap. Rachel had let go of him and instead knelt in front of her child.

Nevertheless, he did not give up.

"Young master, if you please, even just a few bites—"

"'Mnot hungry."

"Pardon?" A push of his glasses—they have been slipping from his nose bridge for a few weeks, he will need to make some adjustments again—and he stared in the hidden eyes of the boy.

There was another sniffle, and Ciel glared at the cherry pie as though it were the culprit of his tears and pain, "I'm not hungry, William." And he stood from his seat, not caring of the slight scraping noise it made with the poor carpet beneath, not caring if his mother begged him to abandon his decision. And with a glare to his parents' pained eyes—Rachel didn't know it was a glare until a single tear was shed from that blue gem—he mustered up the words he had been trying to say since he laid those pure lips chastely on the red-eyed child.

"If I were to be blind, you two would go to great lengths to make me see again."

He stepped away from his chair and turned back, his eyes now tinged with pain and tears and hurt.

Rachel stood up and fought war with her own tears, as she looked into the retreating figure of her son, "Ciel, we love you! We can never make you feel hurt!"

With a shudder, he looked at his mother's eyes and clenched his baby teeth—some of them now permanent—and with a choked sob, he squeaked.

"And I love him. And I don't want to make him feel _hurt._"

Ciel stepped away from the three pairs of eyes—all in disbelief—and stormed into his room, and clutched Puppy Sebastian close to his chest (the stuffed toy is always with him whenever the real Sebastian is not around). Pluto sought to comfort him, but the poor canine only received a huff as the husky stared at the door being slammed into his muzzle as Ciel stepped inside.

The boy didn't eat the whole night. The hiccups resounding in his room served as the appetizer. The pain in his heart served as the main dish. His tears served as his dessert.

And the sky wept along with him.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Monday. It was a weekday—a dreaded day for students. Six o'clock in the morning. And it's sunny.

And William Truffle Spears is not amused.

There, with a trolley of delicacies and a cup of milk tea on a tray, William stood still, as always. The food that was meant to be for a specific little lord was getting cold again.

Ciel's room was locked.

"Young master, if you don't open this door, I'm afraid I'd have to open it myself."

There was no response of any sort from the inside.

And William sighed, and noted that he should get a raise for keeping up with his young charge for the past few years.

"...You do know I have the keys for the rooms, sir."

And a minute passed. And another. And another. _Patience._

After five minutes—he counted, of course—a puffy blue eye peeked from the little gap of the door. Needless to say, William was very much relieved, although there was no hint of such emotion on his ever passive face. "Hello, young master. May I come in?" he asked. Always ask whenever the young boy is in a sour mood, he had learnt from the past since the whipped cream incident.

"'Mkay."

The butler bit back a little smile—he would never show such a trifle thing as to show any signs of human emotion, let alone to his little master—as he laid down the little wooden table on the bed as soon as Ciel returned on it. "Today we have tempura and the Japanese udon, as they call it, along with mint tea and, of course, the lone slice of cherry pie you strictly ordered to have first thing in the morning since you sulked last night, young master."

Ciel pouted as he crossed him arms, and retorted to the stiff butler placing the food in front of him, eyeing the cherry pie with hunger, "I wasn't sulking last night, William." And the butler pushed the rim of his glasses back with little effort of his forefinger, and looked at the boy.

_Ah, yes. Denial._

"I apologize then."

"Mm."

The nine-year old ate in silence, barely registering on his tongue the taste of the cherry pie that he just chomped. It tasted... different. Or maybe because he felt like not eating at all for the rest of the day. He stared at the barely eaten pie that seemed to frown at him, the cherry filling oozing at the edges.

William watched the child with stern green eyes—his standing position similar to that of those unmoving soldiers Ciel sees often in front of the Buckingham Palace—and noted the wistful sigh the boy just emitted.

"Perhaps, you are still troubled by Master Sebastian's illness, sir?" William tactfully inquired. He could see that the boy wanted to avoid the subject, but he just _had_ to say it. Stress is never good, after all. Especially if it's stress coming from a _nine-year old._

"It's not an illness, William. You know that. And don't say it like he's a plague."

There was a withheld sigh from the man, and his gloved hands behind his back relaxed a bit, he has a very smart—and sensitive—charge, he noted. "Yes, I do know it, sir. And I apologize. But making that rash decision about donating your eye is—"

"It's not rash."

A pause, and then, "How can you say that? Pardon my boldness, young master, but you are missing the point that you are an only son of the Phantomhives. If you would be so careless as to..." He paused and thought of a better word to phrase his thoughts, and moistened his lips as a hand gesture was made, "...As to _risk_ your life for a friend—!"

Ciel only bit his lips as he could sense another round of tears starting to fall from his already tear-stained face. It was hard enough as it is that he woke up without Sebastian's smiling face by his side, he didn't have to endure a lecture! _Don't cry! Be strong for Sebastian!_

"But... he's _special_ to me, William." The boy—the innocent, innocent little boy—looked at his butler (and occasional confidant) with round and puffy blue eyes.

William stared, jaw clenched as a palm was poised upwards—signaling his pause—and stared at his young charge once more.

He's only a child.

_He_ was only a child.

It started with a little affection, nothing more, nothing less. A shower of smiles here and there. A peck on the cheek. A peck on the forehead. A bear hug here and there. An exchange of words here and there.

It started with a bond.

It started with a little bond he'd like to call, "friendship." A word the butler rarely used in his younger days.

And it had developed to something akin to taboo.

William can see it.

The beginnings of an affection that is not meant to be.

_He is so young._

"...We can wait for a donor—"

"Sebastian _can't_ wait for a donor!" He screeched as a tiny fist collided with a plate, and sent the cherry pie tumbling down the white bed sheets, staining it with a pinkish red hue.

William fought not to fuss over the stain at the moment.

There was a choked sob from the child, and clenched his fist until they felt like metal on his sensitive skin, "...He can't wait for a donor. He needs to see right away, William!" He furiously wiped on the tears that blurred his line of sight as he felt blood coagulating on his pretty cheeks and pretty hands balled up in tiny fists. A tiny hand wormed its way to the butler's sleeve and blue orbs collided with green gems.

"It's the only way, William."

"But, the other methods—"

"Mister Charles won't approve of them!"

Emerald eyes widened, "How can you say that, sir? It was not as if—"

"I can see it. I _know_ it. He won't approve. If he did, then he would've made a choice yesterday. He's impulsive like that. Knowing Mister Charles, he'd do anything, even to rip his eye out just for his little brother." Ciel let go of the now wrinkled sleeve and slumped back onto the headboard for little support. The sudden movements made him dizzy. Maybe it's because he didn't eat last night?

"But we can still wai—"

"We can't wait. How many times do I have to say it?"

And there it was.

The authoritative side of Ciel Phantomhive.

It rarely showed itself. Almost once in a blue moon, as William mostly sees the authority from the current earl—and never from the nine-year old noble. Seeing this side of the child now...

It seems that this boy inherited Master Vincent's genes. Along with Lady Rachel's looks.

A little curve—a twitch of the muscles on the corners of his thin lips—made its way on his constant frowning face. An even _rarer_ gesture for the stoic man. And he bowed, lower, lower, lower, until he crooned on the little boy's ear—careful not to breathe on the ticklish appendage.

"What do you want me to do?"

Ciel breathed—_inhale_, _exhale_—and with a tiny gap seen from in between his chapped and slightly red lips, he spoke.

"Convince them to accept my decision."

There was a hush—a shuffle of cloth—as William bowed, the tiniest ghost of a smile now gone from his pale face, as he uttered the words he mostly served for the man that employed him.

"Yes, my lord."

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

"Young sir, please don't pout so much, you might get wrinkles at an early age!"

"I am certainly _not_ pouting, Angela."

"But, young sir, I can see little lines between your little brows and I can see that jutting lip! Certainly that is not a good facial expression to look at once Master Sebastian sees you—"

Silence.

Realization.

And a gasp.

"...I-I'm sorry, young master!" And she bowed profusely, biting her lip and reprimanded herself harshly. She should know better than to aggravate the already sulking child. That certain little boy was the reason he was pouting, after all.

"...It's alright... I think."

Angela gasped once more—along with another bite of her lower lip—as she knelt in front of the little lad and fixed his bow tie and smoothed out his little black shorts. The young boy was already in fourth grade—how much time had passed—and it was in the middle of the year. And many things had happened for the past few months.

The incident with Sebastian and his lack of sight is not one of Ciel's precious memories.

"Oh, young master. Please don't be like that—"

"But I want to help him! And—and mummy and daddy are not helping me to help him! A-and Mister Charles hasn't come here since—since..." And there it was, a tear that Ciel tried hard not to let fall from his eye. He rubbed on the offending droplet from his reddish face, and the maid hushed the child by embracing his small frame and rubbing his back. It always calmed the boy down. At least from her point of view from how Sebastian does it whenever the young boy trips on the grass in the gardens, she assumed it always calmed him down from crying.

"There, there, young master... Please don't cry. It will make Master Sebastian sad if he were to hear you crying..."

And as though she had said the magical word, Ciel stopped hiccupping and sniffling.

"Pardon for the intrusion, young master, but it's time to go now." A hand was encircled on the doorknob as William knocked once and entered the room with the usual stiff bow and the passive face. He had already finished cleaning the stained sheets that his young charge inadvertently ruined, and was now by the door fetching him, the keys of the car slowly jingled from his pockets as he moved.

Angela, having to hear the announcement of the butler, stood up and hurriedly tucked a stray strand of a silvery lock behind her ear, along with a face of someone who looked quite scared for some reason (William always assumed the woman is afraid of him). "O-oh! It's that time already? Um... I'll just finish with his shoes, William." And she flitted on about getting to the cabinet and withdrew a pair of black shoes along with a fresh pair of little white socks, a bit embarrassed that the butler had to see her slacking off of her work as she hurriedly—yet elegantly (in William's line of sight)—put on the tiny socks on a pair of tiny and slim feet, and buckled the tiny shoes, already shined to its shiniest degree that the boy could see his reflection on the buckles.

"All done, young master."

Ciel only nodded—a little determined nod, should she add—as the little boy stood up and headed over the door towards the waiting William, "They're downstairs, my lord." A short, "M'kay" was his reply. And before leaving, those blue eyes looked back to the now standing maid, a smile placed on his little pouty lips, "Thank you, Angela." And with that, he left with a smile and a tear.

William, having to hear the young boy's thanks, sent the maid a confused look, to which Angela only shook her head and smiled, her hands placed in front of her. Seeing that the maid will not tell him what made the child utter a word of thanks, he took a mental note to talk to her later. Maybe the young woman told him that everything will be alright? Such words were always uttered by her, as though she was never bothered by things that are stressful to a life of a human. Hm, yes, that had to be it. Angela always had a positive influence—this, this saintly aura around her, and it never ceased to fascinate the young man. He had to be like that someday… someone who has a strength on their own—someone that is not always mistaken for his brother because of the ever emotionless face—something that he is quite not proud of, since he hated being compared to his brother.

Not knowing how to act in front of the still smiling woman, William only nodded—stiff and polite—and followed Ciel out of the room.

Angela stood, her purple eyes round and wide at the man's actions. Blinking, she only giggled, "It looks like he forgot to close the door. He _always_ closes the door once he got out of a room."

And with that, she left, not before tucking Puppy Sebastian onto one of the pillows to make sure he won't fall off the bed once his favorite master comes back and bounces on said bed.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

"Hurry Ciel, we might get late!" Rachel cooed from the bottom of the staircase. Vincent was with her for once—he said something about accompanying his beloved family to school and to check on things to make sure everything is not ruined by Kelvin. His words.

"Coming!" And Ciel raced down the stairs, a glint of excitement shone in his blue eyes as he hopped on the last step. "Careful, young master," William had warned, but the little boy paid no heed as he already jumped and left as he swung the mansion doors wide open, leaving his parents gaping their mouths at the door banging from the walls.

Vincent could only blink, and Rachel could only widen her eyes.

"What has gotten into our little boy?"

William only coughed—and fought back the little smile he had been hiding, "It seems that the young master is excited for some reason."

Rachel turned and looked at the seemingly pleased butler with a confused expression on her pretty face, her red-painted lips scrunched up as she asked her servant, "Do you happen to know why? I mean, he was crying last night and—"

"Rachel."

She turned and faced the back of her husband by the door, his head peeking a bit, "What?" And she was answered with a beckoning hand, urging her to come over and look at whatever her husband planned for her to look at.

And so she followed, William—curiosity getting the most of him—also joined.

Vincent grinned as he gazed at the scene before him a couple of feet away from his mansion, "I think, I know why Ciel is so happy."

And there—right next door (as Vincent could tell, having a perfect vision of 20/20)—is his beloved little son, hugging a certain little boy.

And Rachel only gushed at how cute her son's antics were.

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"Sebastian!" He tackled the boy and nuzzled his neck all the while. The short amount of being away from his friend took its toll on him. He couldn't bear to live without Sebastian's scent (and presence, of course). Something along the lines of strawberry and devil's food cake was his scent today, Ciel mused.

"Ciel..." was Sebastian's simple reply as he hugged back with much enthusiasm than usual. Being not able to see anything, he would have to rely on his memory on how Ciel might look like on this fine London day. Perhaps he's wearing the black uniform, all tucked and pressed and properly worn by the boy? Perhaps, he's wearing those knee-length shorts of white cotton that covered considerable amount of skin? Perhaps, he's wearing those little black shoes with shiny buckles that adorned his tiny little feet? How about what his expression might look like? Perhaps, he's looking at him with that wide smile on his face? Along with his blushing cheeks and wide blue eyes? He smelt of tulips today—the little boy didn't know why—but smiled nonetheless. Maybe he had played with Pluto in the gardens and somehow he managed to perch on top of the flower bed? He inwardly chuckled. Ciel does the cutest things.

"Are you ready to go?" The blue-eyed doll asked, trying so hard not to change the subject—as though everything is the same way it was a few days ago before that fateful Saturday morning. Ciel refused to cry and to let Sebastian feel his tears.

The claret-eyed child broke the embrace and held the boy at arm's length. "'Mready," was his reply, the blind eyes tried to view Ciel's location with his now useless—as what he thought—eyes, only to end up landing on the boy's shoulders—at least, that's what the blue-eyed boy assumed. "Not until I get your things!" a voice piped from inside the house, it was Charles—who was running around while getting random things to and fro. The poor man had been secretly bawling every time he tucked Sebastian to his room and he retired to his bed, screaming at the heavens about the cruel fate of his (too) young stepbrother.

"Okay!" was the children's reply in unison. Ciel, after placing a chaste peck on Sebastian's cheek, later noticed that his family and William were now patiently waiting by the gates of the man's abode. Despite being an earl, the young man's house looked small compared to the Phantomhive estate. Vincent would never know why a wealthy young man such as Charles would choose a house such as humble as this. He never voiced his question out loud, though.

The 20-year old huffed as he hurried over to the door, a light sheen of sweat graced his brow, and Sebastian's things—as Ciel knows by just a single glance—were being carried by him. Out of curiosity, the little boy piped up as he lightly tugged on one of Charles' sleeves.

"Why aren't you getting a nanny for Sebastian, Mister Charles?" He asked out of the blue. Really, Ciel wanted to know why.

Said earl looked down on the wide-eyed little boy. Oh, how much he'd give everything just to see his precious little brother's warm smile—and he'd like to gaze upon his eyes again, whether they'd be red or honey brown, Charles Grey just wants to see his brother back to his normal life so he could protect Ciel again. The life in Sebastian's eyes had vanished for a short period of time—the boy sulked and cried over the fact that he can't do a simple thing as to go to his friend's house.

Charles cursed and mentally killed the men that caused his brother such pain.

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and knelt in front of the pouting child with a (strained) smile, "I don't want to entrust my little brother to anyone but me and you and your family, Ciel. You know that." And he ruffled his hair in an attempt to make the child smile, but the action only raised another question.

"How about Mister Phipps?"

Charles paused for a split second—and blinked twice—as he only laughed, and the curves of smile barely reached his ears, "He doesn't come here every day, Ciel. He's busy with the bakery."

The boy only frowned. He let the subject go. For now.

Charles sighed when the boy stopped questioning. He loves Ciel as his little brother's best—and only—friend, but sometimes...

His gaze fell onto the child's tiny hand.

He never noticed that he was holding Sebastian's pale digits so gently in his own.

And Charles felt a twinge in his heart.

He took a deep breath as he closed his eyes, and looked at the little children with smiling faces—one with a melancholic look and one with a happy disposition.

Vincent and Rachel waved from the gates as William appeared behind them in a limousine, his face as impassive as ever. Albeit, there was a small tug on the corner of his lips. Or perhaps it was a trick of the shadow.

Charles' voiced echoed, void of his usual hyper octave, "Shall we go?"

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The first thing that their classmates noticed on this fine Monday morning was that Sebastian looked stoic. No, that was nothing new, seeing as he's always stoic in the presence of other people except for Ciel and his big brother who occasionally comes to their classroom during his break time. But there's something that looked quite _amiss..._

The second thing that they noticed is that Ciel isn't smiling today—which is odd, considering that he's clinging to the red-eyed boy. Everyone knows that when Ciel clings to the "raven", as they affectionately call Sebastian, the blue-eyed doll is as happy as a clam—as Grell said at one point.

...So why does he look like he's going to cry at any given moment?

"Here, you can sit now."

And Sebastian muttered his thanks.

And the class wondered, for usually—which means everyday—Sebastian is always the one who pulls the chair for Ciel. Whether it is in the cafeteria or in the classroom or in the library or in any place at all, it was always Sebastian who does the mundane tasks for Ciel. Like a loyal servant. And it was never the other way around. Until today.

And so they whispered behind their tiny backs—guessing and questioning the cause of the boys' behavior, taking note on how Ciel slowly puts Sebastian's things in front of his chair. And the black-clad boy didn't help at all—it appalled the class for once. Sebastian didn't even move an inch, his gaze was fixated on the little boy kneeling on the floor while arranging his lunch box and water bottle and his little black backpack.

Or so they assumed.

Once he stood up, the boy's blue gems darted over the unmoving mop of black in front of him, and he hugged the pale statuesque boy—while mumbling something along the lines of, "You're going to be all right." At least, that's what Elizabeth—she was seated next to Sebastian, the alphabetical arrangement of their surnames served as the basis of such seating order—thought she heard.

"Alright, everyone! Take your seats!"

And to sit they did.

The doctor—and also a teacher—stood proud in front of the students, with worry and confusion and anticipation etched on their glowing façades. Once Miss Angelina Durless-Barnet enters a room, it's either someone will be called to the school clinic, or she'll be filling up for a teacher's absence.

This time, it will be both.

She tapped her class record—which was dyed in red and pink—on the table, gaining some of the students' attention, and the others talked in hushed whispers and other in silent glances of the eye—indicating that something is not quite right.

Madam Red, as she was known for her striking hair of bloody red in hue, lifted her chin up and her eyes roamed the room, searching, searching…

And her pretty eyes landed on what she sought, a boy with the familiar—and more than welcome—pair of pretty sea-blue eyes, and beside him was the reason she made her presence known in the room. It was that timid—and yet defiant—little boy with the pair of red eyes that rivaled her little charge's—Grell Sutcliff—hair in terms of redness.

She cleared her throat and tapped her perfectly manicured finger on the edge of the teacher's chair, and with a sad smile, she finally spoke. "Today, Miss Rodkin is in Cheshire to visit her family. Personal reasons, so don't ask," she added as soon as a certain student—Grell—opened his mouth to speak. And she continued as she idly tapped her pen on her palm. "Now, I'd be filling in for your English class today. And prepare for a quiz." And the students groaned in disappointment. Trust Madam Red to give them the most cruel and longest of quizzes. Oh, how she felt very much like them when she was a student. And now, she's relishing the fun of having the roles reversed. She returned her gaze back to the silent pair of boys at the back, and she went over to them—and Ciel and Sebastian frowned in unison (Sebastian can hear the footsteps; tap, tap, tap). Ciel knew the reason why her aunt was here. And was not because of the absence of Miss Rodkin. He overheard his father talking to her on the phone while they were in the parking lot, and he felt a sick twist in his stomach for some reason. And so here she was now, standing beside the boy as she ruffled Sebastian's uncharacteristically unkempt hair—in a motherly manner, had she been a mother—he might add. She bit her lip—and crumpled her lipstick-stained mounds. It was the same color as her hair, Ciel noted. It had always been red, and never any color, for Vincent had told her once that he loved red on her—though Ciel never knew why. He was being nice. Yes, that had to be it. The red-haired doctor faced the class, their wide pairs of eyes twinkled in curiosity. And the woman will fill that curiosity.

"Some of you may have noticed—or some of you might have not—that… something has changed today," she began as she smacked her lips in an attempt to moisten them, and she soothed herself by rubbing her upper arm with her red-painted nails—a gesture that she is nervous of her words. And so, it had begun. A waif-like hand was raised, and the doctor directed her attention towards the little girl. She was frowning since she entered the room, Madam Red had noticed. And she knew what the little girl with gold-spun drills of hair will say.

"Is Sebastian blind, Miss?" was her simple question. It was an unspoken rule that Ciel and Elizabeth will not address her as auntie in the school grounds. A number of stifled gasps were heard. She knew where this was heading, and it will only get worse from here. Angelina bit her lip until she felt a bit of blood seeping from the tip. It was not noticeable, seeing as she dyed her lips the same color as that metallic-tasting liquid.

"Yes," was her only answer. It was forced out of her dry mouth before she could even take back her prickling words. And she shut her eyes tight as she heard even more gasps, mostly from the females. Sebastian is equally as adorable as Ciel, after all—and so the female population valued them both. And Elizabeth stifled a cry—she knew how much her cousin valued Sebastian more than his young life. She heard of the fateful tale from her mother (who was visibly worried for once)—and the little girl hasn't stopped worrying since. She tried to call his house numerous times, but her request—demand—to speak to Ciel was never heard. Unfortunately, the little boy ordered William to let him be for the next day, and any call was deemed unimportant unless it was from Sebastian.

She heaved a sigh as she looked at the now trembling porcelain child—Ciel was holding Sebastian's hand through the gap of their chairs, and he spared not a single glance towards the pairs of eyes that lay on the said pair of hands. Elizabeth knew that her cousin loves Sebastian—an untouchable love that rivaled the love of lovers—and it is painful.

Hushed whispers were exchanged, and some stopped their mouths from forming words, afraid of having to have the wrath of the little Phantomhive bestowed upon their heads; others were afraid on how to say a simple thing of comfort. Clearly, the students were speechless—and Madam Red's glare was not helping them at all. This is the nephew of the school doctor, after all. If they say anything that might make the little child—their little "brother"—cry or even make him shed the tiniest shadow of a tear, they were sure that they'll never see the day again.

But Ciel only wept behind his fringe as he clung onto the pale hand—silently thinking that Sebastian's hand might get hurt from the force of the grip—but he held strong, he really did—all for the (currently, Ciel mentally added) handicapped little boy.

As though sensing the hidden tears, Sebastian—the ever faithful friend (and will grow more than a friend, should time permit them so)—tightened his hold on the hand, and slowly—as to not attract the attention of Madam Red as she faced the class with unshed pain—slowly placed a light kiss on the child's little ear. Let them think that he was only whispering to the now-blushing boy.

But one boy begged to differ from the eyes' assumptions.

He had seen it all. That little peck on that equally little pinkish ear. He had never turned away from the two of them since they were in kindergarten, after all. He had always been the one—_always_—to watch over the two of them like the pair of dolls he was so obsessed with in the depths of his cherry-dyed (and scented) room. Oh, how much he _longed_ to have someone like that boy—as young as he was—once they grew up, he might even be fortunate to be graced with a peck from the perfection incarnate himself—Sebastian Michaelis.

Although now, he doesn't look as perfect as he had been since last week. He was now _blind._ A useless person, like those beggars vying for even a shilling or two! Hah. He should leave him and not grace his lovely emerald eyes on him anymore. He's better off with someone who could give him happiness like those of the lovely fairy tales he sees on TV nowadays. He's scrap, _garbage. _Filth. And he harrumphed as he shifted his gaze away from the little lovebirds.

Although…

Although…

—He gazes back, just a bit of a tiniest hint of a glance from the corner of his eye as he rested his chin lazily on his left elbow, and saw that indeed…

Ciel's devotion and love for Sebastian is pure.

Grell Sutcliff could only watch his love and the love of his love from afar—from behind a figurative tree or maybe even from behind a figurative corner of a wall—and as his heart ached for the boy (soon-to-be man) to at least spare him even a single glance or maybe even the tiniest curve of a smile, he could feel the pain of that little crying child, the one that his caretaker also loves with her heart.

If he were Ciel, he'd give him all of his eyes too, just to make Sebastian see again.

He had overheard it that night while he was off to the bathroom to brush his teeth after eating some Brussels sprouts—ungraciously having to be force-fed by a maid—he heard the voice of his beloved mistress talking to someone on her phone. Now, here's a fact. Grell loves to eavesdrop about anything of everything. He spared nothing at all when it comes to trivial gossip and news about the world or whatnot. And when he heard the sudden gasp of Madam Red—he knew this was not something about trifle gossips. Madam Red, as much as she herself loved gossips—never gasp at any news at all…

…Unless it involved her family.

And so he crouched—the aftertaste of the vegetable and the need for a quick swish of toothpaste on his tongue temporarily forgotten—and listened to every word from behind the oak-wood door. And when he heard, "Sebastian and Ciel" and "operation and donation" together, his heart had jumped.

And Grell nodded to himself—as soon as Madam Red hung up the phone and sat on her lounge chair and called for a maid to get her a glass of pink champagne—that from what he heard from the one-sided conversation—that Ciel was right.

He'll convince them—all of them—that Sebastian cannot wait for a donor.

And so, "Operation: Grell Rescues Sebastian Eyesight and Support Ciel for his Decision" begins.

And as he looks at the situation now…

Grell loved Sebastian. _Loved._ He could see that he can never look at him the same way again after he saw that little kiss on the little Phantomhive's ear. (_How he loved him so much!_) And it was decided.

Grell will convince the Phantomhive couple to bless Ciel with his undying devotion of sacrifice… The donation of his eye.

…All for Sebastian.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

…That was not what I had in mind. O_o The story wrote itself! GAH! D:


	11. Unitas, Unity

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_And so, "Operation: Grell Rescues Sebastian's Eyesight and Support Ciel for his Decision" begins._

**DISCLAIMER: **My cat meows that I don't own Ciel or Sebby. :3

**A/N:** A nice review would be appreciated, yes? :D

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Angelina talked, and talked, and explained—and breathed—and explained once again (for the last time, in fact) about the situation regarding Sebastian's blindness. Ciel had puffed his cheeks, and yelled—much to the students' shock—at his aunt and stated that his friend's blindness was only "temporary". The doctor only bit her lip once again (and tasted the tangy aftertaste of blood) as she fought not to go to her nephew's seat and hug him until he let go of his unshed tears. Sebastian didn't say anything much. He was content to just listen to the people around him talk; especially Ciel's rants on protecting him to the fullest in his time of need. How sweet. Sebastian held back a little smile at his friend's words—he acts so cutely most of the time. Although, from Madam Red's viewpoint, she could see the (temporarily) blind little boy clamping his lips shut, as though he was preventing himself from saying something.

But then again, the only shred of hope that he truly need now lies on that red-faced and fuming little child. And so to prevent Ciel from lashing out to his beloved aunt, he squeezed that miniscule fist that laid atop of the armchair.

And Ciel hid his tears once again.

After much explanation—45 minutes is quite long—Angelina finally proceeded to today's English lesson; and after taking down notes (Ciel made sure to write everything down on his little blue notebook, right down to the dot, so that once classes are over, he'll personally teach them to Sebastian… word by word), Madam Red took out a sheet of paper and a pen as she announced the first number on the quiz.

And Sebastian—with the help of Ciel—felt the edges of the smooth armchair until his (now hypersensitive) fingers touched the edge of a thin sheet of paper, also provided by Ciel. He tiptoed his little digits on the top of the desk, where his pen—as Ciel told him—should be. Pressing the back end of the pen and feeling the soft edge of the parchment, he began to write his name…

…Or rather, he _tried_ to write his name on the paper.

Sebastian bit his lip—he felt the familiar sting on his eyes again, although, there was some moisture on the edges—as he wrote the first letter of his name on the paper.

The writing of the letter "S" was successful…

…But the rest of the letters weren't.

Sebastian knew of it since he started to write the letter "b". He felt the paper twitch while he kept the edge of the paper steady. He paused and took a breath as he started all over again with the letter "a". He vaguely tried to feel it with his fingers—the groove and heaviness of his lettering, that is—and he frowned.

The alignment was not right.

Madam Red opened her mouth to speak, the beginning of the syllable of the first number at the tip of her dainty tongue. "One."

The first word of the first question never had the time to pass by her vocal chords…

…For Ciel had already yelled.

"Auntie!"

Ciel Phantomhive had broken the unspoken rule—but Angelina was too stunned to notice.

In a matter of seconds, the doctor stormed over the row of seats and rushed over to the practically wailing boy being hugged by her nephew. And beside the crying Sebastian was a crumpled piece of paper, along with his pen and his black notebook—which was void of today's notes.

"What? What happened!" And Madam Red fussed over the crying little boy and his protective friend—who was currently whispering something unintelligible to the nine-year old's ear, hugging him all the while as he cried. She tried to talk to her uncharacteristically tight-lipped nephew to tell her what happened; but Ciel only looked at the floor—his arms still wrapped around Sebastian's hair tightly—towards that wrinkled piece of paper ball. And so Angelina took it as a clue and picked it from the mess of school things littered around the boy's chair and unraveled the cause of Sebastian's distraught.

There, written on that wrinkled piece of parchment, was Sebastian's name. At first glance, she saw nothing wrong of it—and tried to ignore the cries of his student for a moment (Ciel tried really hard to calm him down, but to no avail)—until she realized that there _was_ something wrong.

The first three letters of his name were (kind of) aligned correctly, that much she could see. But…

The letter "a" was written _beneath_ the letter "b", and the next letter "a" was slightly written _over_ the letter "b", and the next letters until the letter "n" were written also in the same manner, the edges written slightly on top of the other. And his surname was the same as well in terms of penmanship. And once the final letter was placed (the letter "s"), Madam Red could see that the lines were wobbly as he wrote the first number… And was that a drop of liquid on the edge? Perhaps it was a bead of sweat? Or maybe even…

A (furious) wail broke the doctor's thoughts, and absentmindedly, she put that piece of paper in her pocket.

"Alright, Sebastian. Go to the clinic. Ciel."

Her nephew didn't need another word as he helped Sebastian stand up—who was still sobbing—and mumbled a quick apology to Elizabeth to help auntie arrange his friend's things. Elizabeth could only nod (as she, too, wiped her tears of pity for the boy) and hurriedly fixed the mess Sebastian had inadvertently made. He held strong for Sebastian until they got out of the room (the hushed whispers of his classmates didn't help the crying boy) and made their way to the clinic, and he held his trembling hand and shoulder.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

The blue-eyed boy held him still—he could feel his friend convulsing in an emotion that he couldn't comprehend (fear, perhaps?)—and he pointedly ignored the curious stares and whispers of false comfort from students and teachers alike. The news spread around like wildfire, it seemed. At least, Ciel thought that the words of comfort were false. He also ignored Sebastian's whimpers of apology for making him miss the quiz—to which Ciel only dismissed with another soothing peck on the cheek, not caring for the even _more_ curious stares of some of the teachers. He must be really distressed if it meant his friend was acting all, "Un-Sebastian-like", Ciel had thought with a frown. After all, who _wouldn't_ be distressed if you can't see what you're trying to write?

When the nine-year old led the still crying Sebastian in the clinic, he expected the room to be empty. Once he opened the door with a click, he saw a little girl—someone who looked just like Elizabeth, only smaller—and without hesitation, he made a quick greeting to the little girl dressed in a doctor's coat ("Hello to you too, Mister Phantomhive.") and virtually dragged Sebastian to the nearby bed, and instantly handed him a bottle of cold water that he had nabbed on his way to the fridge. Only Ciel Phantomhive can rummage through the things in school and not get scolded—being the son of the school owner definitely has its benefits.

"Drink it," the boy simply said. Sebastian only nodded, his sign of thanks—and he uncapped the bottle and drank the liquid that streamed down his throat, miraculously not letting a single drop fall from his gulping gasps. He finished drinking with a deep sigh, and as soon as he blindly placed the bottle on the nearby dresser (Ciel took it from his hands at the last second, and he placed it on the silver tray that lay on the dresser instead, not wanting to leave any ugly staining rings of water on the wood itself), he grabbed Ciel's warm hands—he knew where the child's hands are by intuition—and placed them on his lips. The little boy couldn't help but to redden his cheeks with a blush at those cold (from the water) and plump little mounds of pale pink.

"Thank you," was all Sebastian could say.

Feeling left out of the little display of affection, Ciel acted on his own share of adoration for the boy. With a cautious shift of eyes from left to right and from behind, he slowly closed the curtain that divided them and the unsuspecting little girl making herself a glass of grape juice. At least, he _thought_ it was grape juice. Returning to the task at hand, he kissed the pale little child on his forehead, and on his cheeks.

And Sebastian relished those tiny sparks that tickled the places Ciel had kissed.

"Do you feel better now? Even for a bit?" Ciel lightly quipped as he bathed his fingers in that sea of ebony locks. The red-eyed child only nodded—and leaned his forehead on the boy's beating heart. No words were exchanged—they were not needed at this moment—not until they were interrupted by the familiar shuffling of cloth and metal, indicating that someone had ruined their little moment of peace.

"I take it he has calmed down?" It was the lilting voice of Madam Red, poised ever so coolly by the now draped divider, one hand on her pocket and the other holding out a chewable tablet—for Sebastian, of course.

Ciel took the tablet and gave it to Sebastian's still slightly trembling hands, along with the bottle of water from earlier, and Madam Red regarded her nephew with a sad gaze. _He loves him more than he should._

With a sigh, she straightened out, instantly gaining the attention of Ciel for a moment, and he opened his mouth to speak, "Yes, auntie? I apologize if I called you auntie, but—" He was cut off with a face of a palm and a smile on her aunt's face. Angelina only kissed the top of the child's head (while Sebastian simply held the bottle in his hands, listening to every word they are talking about).

"Ciel, honey? Can I have a word with you?" Angelina asked with a tight-lipped smile all the while patting her nephew's soft locks. _He inherited Rachel's hair texture!_

"Why, sure, auntie." And Ciel stared at the woman before him—expectant of something—never once letting go of Sebastian's hands. He waited for a few seconds as he blinked.

"…I meant outside, Ciel." And there it was again, that barely there smile.

Ciel's face fell. "Oh."

"It's alright Ciel. Go ahead," Sebastian said with a little smile of his own, determined to stop himself from whispering, _don't go._ "It's not like I can go anywhere anyway in this state." The blue-eyed child could _almost_ see the utterly adorable pout that decorated his friend's face; the poor boy hid his face from view by burying himself on the pillow. Ciel only kissed him once again.

His words broke Ciel's fragile little heart—despite Sebastian saying that it's (not) alright. "Oh, Sebastian…" To compensate for his actions of leaving him for a few minutes, he kissed him on the forehead (again), whispering a quick, "I'll be back before you know it, 'kay?"

Sebastian only nodded, followed with a muffled, "Mm~"

And Madam Red led Ciel away from the humming little boy.

"Is there a problem, doctor?" quipped the—now blushing and hiccupping—little girl. She was still drinking the (assumed) grape juice in the glass, but something tells Ciel it's not really juice…

Angelina smiled as she placed a hand on her nephew's shoulder, "No. There's not a problem at all. Though, there _will_ be a problem if you continue to drink that. You know how "he" is. Take that away, Wendy." And Wendy—as Ciel had assumed—put away the "juice" with a pout on her lips and crossed her arms on her chest as she glared at the innocently staring little boy. "Jus' 'cause yer Sir Vincent's son doesn' mea' I hav'ta put up a nice façade for ya, kid. Na'leave me an' my wine'n peace."

Ciel could only stare as he slowly raised a finger of curiosity to the now questionable beverage. Although, before Ciel could even ask such a question, he was already ushered away from Wendy's fits of pouting by Angelina—who was now smiling awkwardly at her beloved nephew. She'd have to reprimand Wendy later (and hopefully would have to tell her husband about it).

She sighed as she closed the door—while Ciel was still struggling to decipher what exactly happened in there, his tiny finger still slightly raised and curved along with an expression of shock on his face. _What happened in there?_

"What happened in there?" Ciel looked towards his still awkwardly smiling aunt, clearly bothered by the fact that a child that was probably younger than him is drinking _wine_ of all beverages to drink. Apparently, his aunt didn't even look bothered of it at all—judging from her smiling face and crescent smiling eyes.

"I'll explain it to you later, dear," was his aunt's hasty reply—equipped with a smile and an awkward chuckle. Ciel could only blink, but nevertheless, he nodded blankly. The question can wait later.

After a few breaths of uneasiness and unnecessary glances to the glass windows and to the green-tiled floors, the little boy—now being anxious and agitated by the second of the utterly heavy silence—mentally decided that he wanted to go back to Sebastian's side as soon possible, preferably, _right now._ And so, he stared at his aunt with a pout (and no, that was not a blush that accompanied it, it was the cruel sun doing things to his pretty face now tinted with pink), "Auntie, I'm sorry to interrupt your thoughts, but if you've got nothing to say, then I'll just go back to—" He was cut off once again with a dainty palm and an exasperated sigh and a flutter of mascara-coated eyelashes. Angelina straightened her back in an attempt to look confident (which failed miserably judging from her tight-lipped façade, and ended up looking like she was about to cry instead), and with a barely-there smile and a (now) stiff hand on his shoulder, Madam Red mustered all of her courage to that one question that ate her mind since she heard the fateful news from her sister.

"Ciel, do you _really_ want to donate your eye?"

And with not a millisecond to spare—and the red-locked woman dreaded it—the blue orbs that her nephew possessed turned into a darker hue, at least, it was what she thought, as Ciel opened his tiny lips to spill forth that one little word that Ann begged not to hear.

"Yes!"

It was said with much enthusiasm.

And Doctor Barnett was defeated by that face of determination.

She heaved a sigh of surrender—and that well-manicured hand fell like concrete from that tiny shoulder blade—as she stared at her adorable (mature) nephew with barely concealed tears (of pain and hurt and numbness and regret and _Rachel! Rachel! Rachel!_) for him and his blind (temporarily blind, mind you) friend. She knelt to the ground, and each inch that graced her nearing presence felt like she was being buried beneath the core of the earth of the pain of knowing Ciel's answer. It rang loud and clear to her shattering ears and mind.

_And so Fate has rolled her dice…_

Two white-clad and shivering arms wound their way on that petite black-clad frame, and Madam Red buried her forehead to the nook of the nine-year old's neck. Ciel couldn't fathom why she did what she did, but he assumed it was something to what his mother used to say, something like "mother's love" or something along those lines that his young mind couldn't understand.

"Be strong for Sebastian," was what Ciel's ears had picked up before the trembling limbs released their hold, and she stared at him with (still) watery eyes.

And the porcelain boy could only nod slightly—dazed—quite taken aback by his aunt's reaction. He had expected her to be adamant about saying things like, "don't do it!" He silently prayed that William would follow his order—for his parents and Mister Charles—are the only ones blocking his sacrifice to his friend.

_Oh, Sebastian…_

Madam Red stood up and wiped the treacherous tear that slipped from the corner of her eye, "Go on now." It was a sign that the conversation is over; and Ciel nodded once again—determination set in his pretty blue eyes, burning more than ever—as he moved his hand on the door handle, ready to tickle the knob open and step inside and plop down on the bed Sebastian had so graciously occupied, and he did just as so. And with one last smile to his beloved aunt, he closed the door with the inevitable click.

And as soon as it closed, Angelina Barnett grabbed her phone from the confines of her pocket and dialed a number that she knew all too well.

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"No, William. I refuse."

"But master! It's the only way!"

A furious flail of arms. "It's not the only way! It doesn't have to be him! There are other people out there that are suitable to be his donor!"

"But there are no donors calling now, are there?" He paused as he licked his chapped lips and clenched his fist and stopped in mid-air, "_That_ doctor hasn't even called once."

Vincent paused—oh, yes, it was true, oh so very _cruelly _true—but then again…

"William, this is absurd. _Absolutely_ absurd. How could you suggest such a thing?" It was a question from a very stressed Rachel, who—after dropping off Ciel at school and notifying the principal for her absence today—came back to the mansion with her husband and butler, seriously discussing things of importance, say, the urging of their son to donate his own cornea to his best friend. And William, being the utterly loyal butler that he is, decided to stand firm in his decision to follow his little lord's orders…

And so here he was now, discussing (arguing) with his master and mistress' family affairs. William had been told countless of times by Vincent that he is a part of the Phantomhive family, and definitely, he could feel the privilege of being a part of a noble household, and he definitely looked like he was a part of the family now, openly debating with the masters of the house! Oh, what honor! His brother would seethe and spit in jealousy if he were to find out about this!

"It was the young master's order," was William curt and honest reply, despite the fact that he very much wanted to break into a grinning spree out of pure pride of being in this house, he kept up with his stoic face. _Never_ let your face show any emotion in front of the master.

Shock and fear blazed through the lady's veins, and with a barely concealed quivering voice, she piped, "…By Ciel?" _My baby?_

Hands were swiftly placed back to his sides, straight and unmoving, very much like a lifeless limb of a mannequin (like his face), as William only nodded and hummed, watching for any signs of hysteria his mistress might break into.

After breathing for a few seconds and deciding that the mistress won't break into a fit of asthma attacks, William clamped his lips as he once again tried to speak—as calmly as possible—to his master and mistress.

And then a phone rang.

Angela—who was more than ready to rush over to answer it—huffed a deep breath before answering, and looked cautiously at a stern-faced William, "Good day, Phantomhive residence, how may I—"

"Hello Angela, is my sister there?"

And with a hasty reply of an affirmative, she quickly gave it to Rachel—who was still a bit dazed from the earlier conversation—and she hurriedly went over to William's side, and whispered her question as to why he would suggest such a thing. And the butler's reply was a simple, "I only want what my master wants." And the maid bit her plump lip, preventing herself from touching the man's elbow in an attempt to soften the expression on his impeccably passive face.

And the servants listened to their mistress talk—who later cried—as Vincent then took over the phone and urged his sister-in-law to come see them immediately.

And Angela had to drag William by the arm as soon as they left, the latter silently letting the woman drag his feet along.

As soon as they were out of earshot—and away from Tanaka who was gently sipping a cup of tea, Angela faced the butler with a worried countenance, "Why are you doing this? Are you out of your mind? We're not supposed to meddle!" William reasoned out with an exasperated stretch of an arm, "But we're also their family—"

"But not literally!"

And Angela's pretty, pretty violet eyes widened just a fraction…

Did the ever stoic William Truffle Spears…

…just pout?

"Did you just pout?" she asked with a pointed finger towards the butler's mouth, and William had to blink by the sudden onslaught of the irrelevant question.

"No."

And Angela had to stifle a smile worming its way to her pretty lips, she wouldn't want the poor butler to get embarrassed!

The maid then stopped as she clamped her lips—as to not make herself smile and make William uncomfortable than he already is—and looked into those unwavering emerald eyes.

"I see you want to help our little master," she said, with a voice that sounded not like hers—nor the tone of the voice that the butler was used to.

William said nothing, nevertheless—even as those shiny violet eyes gazed at him with a nervous stance—he was to follow the little boy's order, no matter what. Unfortunately, as much as he would hate to admit it, he got attached to that little boy—that unyielding devotion he had for his friend, that undying sacrifice and _love_ (dare he say it so)—and he would do everything to see what his little master would turn into once he grows up into a fine young man with ambitions.

His trance was broken as soon as he heard a little twinkle of a voice—that very much sounded like a lost maiden, may he add.

"Do you need help with it?"

And William Truffle Spears was at a loss for words.

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The door clicked and closed—and was silently thankful that the little girl was now listening to some music that he barely heard through the headphones that she was using—and he now tiptoed to the little bump covered with a blanket of white on the bed.

"Sebastian?"

At the sound of the uttered name, the boy whipped his little head and smiled, his eyes darted over to the curtains—from Ciel's point of view.

"Hm?" he had asked as he now sat up, still with that lovely smile and those sullen claret eyes.

And Ciel, in response, tried to clamber on the bed (not before shutting the divider as he did so)—and by Sebastian's hearing, he could sense that Ciel was having a bit of difficulty in doing the task; so in return, he (blindly) grabbed the two little hands and hoisted him up on his lap, with less sweat than he had imagined.

With a smug smile and a gentle tug on his friend's hips—and at the same time his eyes twinkled for the tiniest amount of time—Sebastian whispered, "Better?"

And Ciel could only bury his face to the crook of the boy's neck with a flourishing blush and a shy nod. Oh, how Sebastian would have _loved_ to see what his little friend would look like now. He could imagine it in his head—and he was so close to chuckling just thinking about it, but instead of doing so, he settled on kissing Ciel's forehead, and the nine-year old kissed the boy's chin in return.

And they stayed that way. Sebastian tried to urge the little boy—now nestling beside him and cuddling close to his arm with a tight grip—to go back to class, but Ciel would have none of it, and instead buried himself further in the flesh of Sebastian's clothed arm and protested with a groan and a sound that was suspiciously like a whine, and the (temporarily) blind child only sighed. When Ciel Durless Phantomhive wants something, he will do whatever it takes to achieve his goals and wants. He had learnt as much from experience—and by this incident, of course.

So Sebastian resorted to whispering things to Ciel to make him fall asleep instead—whispers of affection and promises and flowers and sweets and fluffy animals and of breathtaking sceneries and of certain butterflies—and without him noticing, he realized that he himself was falling asleep as well.

Before he knew it, he was clutching onto Ciel's tiny hand, a soft smile painted his face of unbreakable porcelain white.

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"B-but Rachel! He's my _son_! My only son! My baby!"

"I know, but I'm a surgeon, I know what to do, sister."

"Yes, but still—!"

"Rachel…"

"Vince—!"

A sigh.

And a soft hand was on her shoulder as the lady of the house was slowly calmed down by her husband—rocking her as he embraced her, to and fro, to and fro—and with a soft hum, he smiled as he felt his wife's tension ease a bit.

Madam Red had came to the Phantomhive mansion as soon as she called her beloved sister, determined to get her point across that nothing will change Ciel's decision. She had seen that look every time through Rachel's eyes, her sweet, sweet sister—and she knew that her beloved nephew has her genes, along with his beloved brother-in-law, of course.

And along came the Double Charles, as they were dubbed as for the past few years—who closed the bakery early for some reason. Phipps had to accompany his friend so wouldn't get spaced out while walking down the streets; he'd already been bothered enough that his friend's stepbrother got blind, he couldn't bear it if his friend would be in an accident, too, due to his lack of enthusiasm today. The customers weren't so many for the past few hours—which was a first—and seeing that Grey looked like Death itself, Phipps took the liberty to close down for today.

The two of them sat down on the spacious couch stiffly, Phipps being a mother hen around his friend and Grey being… well… grey.

Angelina cleared her throat once more, and William was gracious enough to give her another glass of ice cold water, and she noted that he should smile more, to which the butler only nodded and stood still once again, like a statue. And the doctor sighed at his stoicism. She silently wondered if William would appreciate Grell's presence by now. The poor boy clung to her coat desperately as soon as he found out she was leaving after English class—and of course Angelina could never say no to that reddish face, and so she brought him along. He was now in the gardens playing with Pluto once again.

The air was tense as she sipped her water, and William was praying for something to distract with from the awful silence that he was used to these past few days. Angela has decided to stop her tasks in the kitchen to watch her mistress, her mouth dry and her hands itched for a reason she could not understand; but surely it has something to do with her little lord's order to his faithful butler.

Tanaka came in after a few puffs of breath by Vincent—the old man being followed by a man with blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

It was the doctor.

Vincent then stood up and went over to the German—holding out his hand as he did so, "Welcome, Dr. Greis."

They shook hands, and the German surgeon sat—next to Charles Grey, the latter remembering to nod as a sign of recognition of the man—and his sad blue eyes searched the room.

"Say, where are the little tots?"

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"—tian. Young Master Ciel…"

"Wake up, ya two."

There was a groan and a shuffle, and there were two pairs of hands on his side and on Sebastian's, and Ciel growled as he tightened his hold on the still sleeping boy, mumbling something about flower wreaths.

The man who was trying to wake them up sighed, and he tapped his chin once, twice, and finally, he had an idea and he smiled as he took out a stuffed toy that resembled a cat (it used to be his favorite stuffed toy when he was a kid, until the sound of lawnmowers came along and took his attention away from the poor toy). And he waved it in front of Sebastian's nose, and the child wrinkled his face upon the ticklish intrusion, and he sneezed; but the man wouldn't let up as the boy continued to sleep (the little girl had now left him alone, and went to the fridge to make herself some sherry). He looked over to the little girl—whom he had recalled by the name of Wendy, and looked back to the sleeping angels with a childish pout.

As a last resort, he huffed, and he cleared his throat once, twice, thrice, and with a push of his wide-rimmed glasses, he faced the sleeping boys with a smile.

"Mreeeoow—"

In a split second, Sebastian was up wide awake and his ears perked up at the sound of that alluring mewl of a cat—his eyes, though he's still blind, widened by a millimeter as he turned his head to decipher the location of the feline, while Ciel rubbed his eyes at the movement from beside him and grumbled some more.

"Hello, Master Sebastian!"

And said boy looked up—blindingly—to the divider once again. _It's hard to be this way._

Ciel sat up with a pout, and instantly wound his arms around Sebastian's once more, blinking away sleep from his adjusting eyes and trying to get more of the warmth that the red-eyed child emitted.

"Ronald, where's mummy?"

To this, Ronald laughed and ruffled his unruly strawberry blond hair, and he straightened up—remembering to do so when being spoken to by the lords of the house, as quoted by William.

"She's back at home, sir. You two have been asleep for the whole day—"

"What time is it?"

Ronald swiftly took a glance at his wristwatch and hummed, "It's 2:15 in the afternoon, young master."

Ciel then gasped as he looked back Sebastian, worry etched on his young face, "My notes! My bag! Sebastian's things!"

"They're all with me, sir."

And Ciel sighed with relief, before gasping once again and demanding how he should write the notes for today if he weren't present for every class. How could he teach Sebastian on things that he couldn't see today?

The gardener—and temporary chauffeur—smiled as he scratched his hair once again, along with a side-swept grin and a proud huff of air as he pointed his thumb towards himself, "Today, sir, _I_ happen to come across Lady Elizabeth, and she would be utterly glad to lend her notes to you; and just as she promised, she and uh…" He coughed, once, and sighed and looked gloomy in a split second before breaking into another smile, "…Madam Frances, would visit the house this coming weekend."

It was then that Ciel uttered a wild wail (while still clinging onto Sebastian's arm for support)—he always had a sudden urge to come hide in a hole of a tree when his aunt Frances comes along—he doesn't know why, but every time she'd lay her eyes on him, he would feel as though he were going to burst in flames from her scrutinizing gaze.

The young Phantomhive suddenly felt a bit queasy—but the uneasiness suddenly left him as soon as a shy pair of pale and warm lips met his forehead.

"It'll be alright, 'kay?"

It was all the assurance that little Ciel needed. But really, will it _really_ be alright? Of course; maybe so, maybe not. Sebastian hasn't even taken a slightest glance on his regal and strong-willed aunt. He decided to lay his fears to rest… for now.

…And Ronald could only stare—blinking, blinking those soothing orbs of warm forest green—as his wide glasses slipped just a bit from the bridge of his finely shaped nose. Surely that was just a show of a friendly love, right? And they're only little tykes so they don't know what they're doing, right? Though yes, kissing between two tiny, little, _innocent_ boys look cute—but then… will it be alright if they continue to do this act of affection once they grow up? It wouldn't be right…!

…_Right?_

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A hush of murmurs and a not-so-gentle exchange of words echoed throughout the Phantomhive estate that Monday afternoon, and the speakers were all filled with pain and hurt and concern and love for two certain cherubs.

"Sir, I beg your pardon—if I would be bold—"

"No, William."

"—But it is Ciel's choice—!"

"But he is my son—!"

"My brother would be in pain if he would accept his offer—!"

"We should talk this over with—"

The voices started to hum and growl through the anxious maid's ears—and she looked at the silently observing Tanaka, and noted the way he had a small frown on his face—clearly upset the way things are going around this moment. Angela bit her lips—_oh_, if only she had the courage to speak up to her masters (like how William is doing right at the moment), maybe this slowly reddening exchange wouldn't happen! At least, that what she thought as she tried to calm her sweating palms.

"We should try to at _least_ listen to the child offering his sacrifice—"

"But then he'll be blind, too!"

"And I wouldn't have that!"

"Nor do I! It is my responsibility as his brother!"

"But Ciel's decision stands—"

"But he's _only _a child!"

Not taking any more of the escalating pitch of the voices around her pretty ears, she puffed up her chest and took a step to finally say a piece of her mind.

And a door suddenly slammed.

"—But he's a devoted friend!" a voice squeaked—along with the roar of the slamming door—and a vivacious sea of red invaded the adults' widened eyes.

"Grell!" Angelina exclaimed as she rushed over to her little charge—who was beaming his undeniably white teeth—and kissed him on the forehead. The little mischief had been prying on William's room again (not that the butler or any servant of the house would know of it), seeing as he, and the other servants, were too busy to deal with the situation at hand—he got a bit of the man's belongings: a pair of unused pants and socks from the deepest depths of a drawer closet, and of course, how could he _ever_ forget, he also snatched up a pair of briefs from the hamper in his room—and the stoic man's scent still lingered on it! Oh, what a prized possession! And it's all his! …As long as his mistress wouldn't take a look at his reddish black and pink school bag.

"What are you saying, Grell?" To answer her question, the young—and effeminate—boy only leered, each white and shiny—_is that a fang over there?_—tooth seemingly gleamed and the lovely jade eyes that her charge possessed only served as toppings for his grin-splitting face and those dwindling fingers on nails and flesh—_tap, tap—_and with a flip of his waist-length hair of crimson, he looked at his beloved mistress, "_I'm_ saying that _I_ agree with my mistress," he then pointed a well-polished nail in the direction of one blinking Rachel—and smiled once again, "Mademoiselle Rachel Durless Phantomhive, _you_ will agree to our decision—and to Cielly's decision."

The lady of the household stiffened—her back now suddenly made of a tree—unmoving, stiff—as she smiled (a strain one, if Vincent could look more closely) towards the bold little boy, "Grell dear, what makes you think that I will agree to that?" There was nervousness on the last syllable, her dear sister could hear it even as Angelina took hold of the little child's hips and steadied him (he was squirming in her hold). The bespectacled nine-year old then cooed—along with the smile that Rachel is now coming to dislike—"You see, madame," he slowly placed his hands on the doctor's shoulders, and Anne let him go—her burgundy eyes trained on her slightly swaying charge, sashaying over to a now slightly trembling Rachel. "Dear Cielly's want—_need—_to help Sebastian is on borderline devotion and _love_. Something that _you_, madame, can comprehend well enough," he directed a smile towards Vincent, who was now blinking in his seat, his arms stuck on the armrests and his feet slightly adjacent to one another at a very manly angle, "seeing as you love Monsieur Vincent over here—_why_ is it that you refuse to accept your son's decision?" A pair of shoes clapped on the Persian carpet as Rachel refused to answer. Grell hummed.

"Hm, well then. Let me rephrase the question… If _your_ child were to be blind and Sebastian would offer his eye to him, would you accept?"

Still, the Lady of the Phantomhives remained silent as she bit her lip—clearly, Grell is not your everyday ordinary nine-year old. Her sister raised him well, in one way or another. He inherited her sister's way of wit and tact, that much she could see—_feel. _

Grell clucked his tongue as his grin fell at the slightest millimeter.

"If Ciel were blind, and there are no donors to be found, would you give him your eye?"

The pairs of eyes now looked at the chestnut-haired lady, also looking for an answer—a _confirmation _, of how she would counter the boy's words.

And Charles Grey could only widen his eyes at her soft answer—her face cracking and sobs now wrecking her frame.

Rachel has made her decision.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Sebastian was now soothing the matted fur of the stuffed cat that Ronald had lent to him with a soft smile. I wouldn't matter if it was stuffed or real or in the form of drawings, Sebastian Michaelis loves cats of any kind. He had no exceptions—even Ciel (who now clung to his arm and shoulder again, by the way) resembled a kitten to Sebastian's eyes. And to prove himself that his (he has become very possessive nowadays) beloved Ciel is like an adorable kitten, he rubbed his left cheek to the now blushing boy's midnight blue hair, and sighed at the contact of those soft hairs on his sensitive skin. _Just like Tabitha's fur~_

Ronald looked at them through the rear view mirror and smiled silently. Yes, they are adorable, he thought. But he couldn't help the fact that what they are doing is wrong in the eyes of the society's eyes… But still…

"We're here, young masters!"

Ciel looked up and squealed, getting Sebastian's bag and lunchbox—they had eaten while they were in the car, seeing as they didn't have the time to eat while in school because they overslept—and steadily took Sebastian's hand in his own while getting out of the limousine, Ronald rushed out of the vehicle and accompanied Sebastian's other skinny hand, he wouldn't want to get the two little boys to trip over from helping each other, he mused.

"Come now, Sebastian!" he giggled, and the (temporarily) blind child couldn't help but smile at his friend's charming tone. _So cute._

And they entered the mansion with Ronald following behind and looking over the grass he so happily trimmed, carrying Ciel's bag and lunchbox while he did so. He hummed a random song that suddenly invaded his mind.

The boy who was leading Sebastian along then heard a soft scuffle from behind one of the living rooms, and he stopped in front of the door in curiosity, his hand still holding Sebastian's pale digits as Ciel moved to open the door…

…Only to be met by an ear-piercing squeal.

"CielCielCiel~!" came the voice, and he hopped at Ciel's curious stare.

"Yes?" was his first reply, his blue eyes following Grell's bouncing self—specifically, to his hair and his now slipping eyeglasses—and he unconsciously tightened his hold on Sebastian's hand.

With another squeal and a round of flailing arms, Grell Sutcliff grinned at his face and to those wide blue eyes.

"Your parents finally said yes to you offering your eye donation to Sebastian!"

And Sebastian Michaelis inadvertently "looked" at the supposed standing point of Grell.

The world—and his frail little heart—suddenly stopped around him.

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THE PLOT BUNBUNS ARE ALIVE~!


	12. Fides, Faith

**Exsequor**

**Summary:** _"The world—and his frail little heart—suddenly stopped around him."_

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine. D:

**A/N: **Hypogonadism is the disease wherein a person looks like a child, although he/she is actually older than what he/she looks like. AND SHORT CHAPTER IS SHORT. D: Next one will be longer. XD

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No air seemed to pass through those minute nostrils, no words formed on those pale little lips—and there was certainly no movement from Sebastian's tiny arms as Ciel hugged him close to his little chest, laughter erupting from those rose-hued mounds.

"Isn't that wonderful, Sebastian!" the child had exclaimed.

And yet Sebastian did no such thing as a smile or a nod or—anything at all.

Ciel fell silent—and so did the occupants from the parlor—with all eyes trained on that pale little boy.

"Oh. Ciel."

And Sebastian hugged the cherub.

A hand was encircled around a pale one—those bony digits trembled, he mused—and Sebastian quivered when he made a mistake of accidentally meeting his painful (and temporarily blind) red eyes with pleading blue ones. At least, he thought his eyes were on Ciel's.

_Oh, Ciel._

"Aren't you happy?" the boy had asked, and the child with the scorching orbs of blood bit his lip, swallowing his answer as he closed his blinded eyes shut. He ignored Ciel's question.

_Oh, Ciel._

"I thought you'd be happy!" the nine-year old had quipped as soon as he saw an apathetic face on his friend. And those words struck a chord to the pale cherub's fragile mind, Sebastian's chin quivered—_no, don't do it for me_—and with a rather uncharacteristic display of changing moods, he shoved Ciel away from his warm arm—enough to make the little boy stumble to the plush red carpet. He bolted away from the now teary-eyed porcelain doll.

With a grunt—and a blind pair of eyes that graced the carpet and Ciel's shoes instead of Ciel himself—he ran away, not caring for his lack of sight and for the harsh words that came from Grell's mouth as he knelt beside the fallen child ("You cruel man, you made him cry!"), all the while whispering words of comfort as he patted the boy's shoulders awkwardly.

He rushed to a corner, following his instincts and his memory of the house, and his feet sped to a halt, but not before hearing a muffled crash of glass to the ground. He assumed it was the newly-bought Roman vase that Mister Vincent had so painstakingly tried to find once again. He'd have to apologize to the man later on.

Ciel almost cried at the retreating figure.

And Sebastian was certain he heard a heart-wrenching wail.

* * *

Hiccup. Hiccup.

A squirrel tilted its head—all the while holding its favorite treat, the acorn—as it scrutinized a ball of black and borderly pale white mess behind the shrub of red roses. The mess of black and pale white stared at the furry critter—at least he _tried to_, seeing as he's blind, it would no use at all, he mused; and as he bit his lip from the pain he encountered with a thorny rose a few minutes ago—he can't help but recall the heartbreaking cry of his one and only friend.

He could imagine what Ciel must have looked like when he shoved him. Oh, how cruel! He could easily imagine those blue doe eyes being filled with painful tears, those cream-hued cheeks must have turned blotchy and red, and he must have bitten his lip in an attempt to hold back a single whimper; those little hands that clung to him would clench and would try to wrinkle anything that he had closest to him (in Ciel's case, it must have been the carpet). And what and what about what he must have looked liked when he actually cried? That cherry mouth must have been wide open—that strawberry tongue at the back of his throat—as he let his pleas and cries be heard.

Oh, how _painful._

He cupped his hands to his face as he sobbed for him and his friend, the scrutinizing squirrel now forgotten. It was painful just trying to think about it! And with the way he had pushed Ciel, he must have gotten a bruise somewhere! And he swore to protect Ciel, too! _But what am I doing? Pushing him away and making him cry? Oh, Ciel…_

"…I'm sorry…"

"You're forgiven."

And a pair of red eyes and cheeks whipped to the hush of the sound, and had he not been blind, he would have seen Ciel with a marred lip (he bit it too much and it bled) and a tear-stained face.

It was five o'clock when he had found Sebastian behind the shrubbery of red roses, sobbing just as hard as he was, and Ciel couldn't help but to run to him and enclose him in his arms. No matter how many cruel things he do to him, the blue-eyed doll could never give way of disliking him even for the slightest bit.

And the bawling raven held him close.

"Oh, Sebastian…"

Silent words draped them close, lost in the song of the hushing blow of the wind and of the dance of the trees.

Ciel had kissed his forehead then—soft and moist from sweat due to running—and whispered the three words that he cherished so well.

"_I love Sebastian."_

"…Oh, Ciel!"

The two of them reconciled that night in Ciel's bedroom (William was kind enough to let Tabitha stay in the room for once), bathed in warm arms and a canopy of lush blankets.

_I accept your offer._

* * *

The Phantomhive couple and Charles made an appointment with Dr. Greis after hearing the affirmative response from Sebastian. Madam Red volunteered herself to help the boy—to which the German doctor approved—two heads are better than one, he said. It will be two weeks from today; it would be when he and Angelina had no appointments on the said date.

Needless to say, the Phantomhive child was estatic.

He wasted no time in catching up and excelling in his studies to help Sebastian after school—the poor boy was insistent that he should come to school with Ciel, even if he was blind. So to make up for his time alone in the clinic with no one but Wendy to talk to (when the girl was sober), he thought of Ciel, of things that he should be doing during class, he thought of fields of flowers and of tree barks that he would carve their initials on once he can see again, and he thought of Tabitha. So many things but so little time!

As he was thinking of flower wreaths and the smell of the rain, in came Ciel bouncing along and tackling him on the bed.

"I missed you!" he had exclaimed, and Sebastian replied with a kiss to his cheek.

"Guess what, guess what!" Oh, here he was again, that voice that made Sebastian tingle with glee, oh, if only he could see what Ciel looked like right now!

"What?" he smiled as he stroke Ciel's hair away from his face, the little boy had never let go of him the moment he entered the room.

"These three have agreed to help me to teach you!"

"Who?" He tried to heighten his senses for any footsteps, and certainly, there were three distinctive footfalls in the clinic, and another sound of steps that was certainly Missus Wendy's (Madam Red had told him about her condition, hypogonadism, a concept that he can understand more than when she had told Ciel).

"Hello, Sebastian!"

And the boy's response was a short, "Oh."

Ciel beamed and pecked his cheek—oblivious to the girl almost squealing with glee while hugging the blonde boy to death—"You know their voices, right?"

"Let me guess. Bardroy, Maylene and Finnian."

"Call me Bard, I hate being called by my full name."

And by some twisted thread of fate, they all ended up huddled together, teaching subjects that Sebastian had missed for the past weeks.

Until he realized, he had developed new friends.

Now, if only he can kiss Ciel and thank him for what he did…

* * *

"Are you ready, Sebastian?"

The boy's answer was a shy but firm nod as he clutched to his brother's hand for dear young life, and Charles couldn't help but to smile and frown at the same time. The fact that he couldn't even help his little brother drove him near to insanity—that, and having to know that it will be his classmate and (only) friend who would donate his eye, a deed that Charles would do in a heartbeat if it weren't for a certain presence who loathed his adorable little brother with all her heart.

"_That boy had caused you nothing but trouble and pain! Leave him and come back, Charles!"_

Such painful words!

"Brother?"

It was that lone word that stopped his train of thought, "Yes, Sebastian?" The boy beamed as his eyes landed at the wall behind him, failing to glance themselves on Charles' curious face, "Please lean close."

"What?"

Sebastian then pouted, "Just do it, brother." And he did just as his little brother had requested, and just as he was about to question the boy's motives, he felt a peck on his nose.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

A palm that rested on his mouth was all he could do to prevent himself from bawling in front of the boy; no, he would never let his brother hear him cry. It was not needed at this moment.

"Don't mention it, Mini Seba," was all he could say (choke out) as Dr. Greis led Sebastian to the ICU—nodding and smiling as Charles waved and told him to be nice to the doctors and nurses so he could see again. Th boy could only smile as he closed his eyes and listened intently to the squeaking of the stretcher and to Dr. Greis' voice of comfort.

He'll see Ciel soon. He was sure of it.

…After all, he was just waiting on the other side of the room, waiting, excited and nervous just as he was.

_Oh, Ciel._

He could hear the sound of Ciel's tiny voice as the doors swung open, he had been talking to a nurse about the importance of drinking tea while taking a bath.

Sebastian smiled as he heard the nurse fumble and laugh—only Ciel can make nayone melt with his charms. And the raven claimed him as his.

"Sebastian!"

_I owe you my life, Ciel._


	13. Virtus et Metus, Strength and Dread

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_"I owe you my life, Ciel."_

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine.

**A/N:** I have to control my squick reactions while watching corneal transplant videos. D: Apparently, watching transplant videos while eating pizza is a huge NO-NO. I can't describe it in words. :O Oh, and to Ekaterina, if you want to, you can post your drawings DeviantArt if you have a DeviantArt account, yes? :D I want to see how you drew Little Sebastian and Little Ciel! 8D ^3^ And to Hmob1994, thank for for the corrections! O3O I wasn't born British, that's why. XD And to answer your question, the setting is indeed in England. :D And while reading this chapter, Guelph is not really Charles Grey's middle name. Just saying. :X

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Charles paced in the waiting room—back and forth, back and forth—while listening to any sound of the ominous swinging doors of the hospital. Vincent and Rachel were silent, and only hummed to any of Elizabeth's questions. Frances had came along with her daughter, to make sure that Rachel will not have a breakdown. She had always been a stern but fragile woman, after all. Charles Phipps had just arrived from getting refreshments—a can of orange soda for Grey, a can of peach juice for Rachel and a can of cola for Vincent; Frances refused anything and settled for water that she retrieved from her bag—and after a span of ten minutes, Grey has yet to take a sip of his soda.

"You need to sit down," Phipps had said, but Grey would have none of it. The more the seconds glared at him from the ticking clock on the wall—mocking him to crumble to ashes—the more he wanted to slice those doors apart and look at how his precious baby brother is doing. Is he alright? Is he being strong like what he told him to? What about Ciel? Is he holding on? Is he in pain? Are _they_ in pain?

"Hey."

Charles turned and his eyes landed on the ever stern face of Charles Phipps, his arms slightly outstretched.

And Charles Grey's defenses crumbled to shards.

"It'll be alright," the taller man whispered to the quivering flesh of sadness that was Grey.

And it was then that Vincent realized—as he was staring at them not-so-discreetly with his mouth agape—that there was something more to Charles Grey and Phipps than meets the eye.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

A nurse wiped the German's brow.

No matter how many patients he had cured, he had never gotten over the fact that a part of him is still scared after all these years.

_Will the operation succeed? Will this child finally be able to see again?__ Will I save these angels' lives?_

Romisch heaved a withheld breath through his surgery mask, his tongue ran over his teeth in hopes of trying to calm himself as he slowly removed the cornea of the brave British boy. Ciel had been adamant in his decision, but still...

...The blue-eyed boy's other request (or should he say, _demand_) was very much absurd from his point of view.

"_Give one of my corneas to Sebastian, Mister Doctor sir. And after that..."_

The eye surgeon placed Ciel's right cornea into Sebastian's damaged eye, the forceps carefully maneuvering the gel-like substance into its proper place.

"It's almost done, little one," the German muttered.

The doctor stitched the cornea back to its place, and with a last round of testing the eye to make sure that the anterior chamber is watertight (by placing a sterile solution on the wounded exterior), he huffed a sigh of relief. Now, all he needed was to put some eye drops on the boy and he'd be as good as new—with a few alterations, of course.

He straightened his back—his joints popped as he moved—and looked at the sleeping yet smiling child just a few steps away from him.

Oh, the boy would be _thrilled._

"Now—for the little soldier's request..."

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Doctor Greis pushed through the large swinging doors—nodding stiffly to the nurses that passed him by, all without a smile—and as he headed for the waiting room, he spotted a familiar mop of white pacing back and forth. He opened the door, and all the occupants of the room turned to the stiffly standing doctor, his chest puffed with pride.

"How are they?" was the immediate question that reached the blond's ears.

It was then that Romisch beamed, his shoulders squared and proud as he patted Charles' head and ruffled his hair—Rachel and Vincent (along with the stiffly standing Charles Phipps) waited for his answer with bated breath. "They'll both be alright, Mister Grey," he said. And Charles wept for joy.

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The sound was very soothing—it calmed him more than he could ever remember. He could faintly hear a soft mew of a kitten in a distance, too. And was that a hush of a nearby riverbank? Oh, how lovely! He'd never been to such a place! A place filled with flowers and soft music! A place where he can be with all the felines his blooming heart desires! He will definitely tell this place to—

"—tian."

—And then he'll tell his—

"—stian."

—And maybe he'll drag his little furry companion—

"—bastian!"

...What was that ruckus? Didn't they know they're ruining his moment of peace? The tiger cubs will run away!

"—bastian!"

Oh, the nerve of that noise—!

"Sebastian!"

...Who?

A jolt. A twitch of a hand. And Sebastian Michaelis was awake and back to reality. At least, he thought he was awake and he was back to reality, but he can't open his eyes...

And then, "Ciel?"

The boy could feel a hand—not Ciel's, he mused with a frown—a much larger and gentler hand, rest on his slightly sweaty forehead, and the owner of the hand hummed, "He is still sleeping, Sebastian." The pale boy—who looked even paler after the operation—turned his head away from the gentle presence, "...Oh." And he wanted to tell Ciel what had just transpired in his dream, too.

The boy turned his head left, right, left—feeling quite queasy and lightheaded for some reason (the anesthesia)—he twitched his fingers, he felt numb. "Take these off," the boy said. Doctor Greis, seeing as Sebastian's little hand went to take away the bandages that concealed his eyes, gently prodded it away from his face. "Tomorrow will be the time to take them off, little one," he advised. He could see Sebastian pout and cross his arms, mumbling something about wanting to see Ciel. Oh, how _adorable._

The boy leant on the headboard, still with the childish pout he rarely shown to the public, and nibbled his lower lip—clearly thinking about something—and the German doctor sighed. As Romisch was about to chide the boy again, Sebastian tried to scamper away from the bed. Charles was quick to put his baby brother back on the bed, "Not until the doctor says you can take those bandages on your eyes." Sebastian puffed his cheeks and fisted his tiny hands, not liking the current treatment being forced on him, "But what if I need to pee?" Charles stood his ground as he crossed his arms—the raven-haired child could almost imagine his brother's stance—and with a tiny smile, the young man giggled, "Well, you have to call on me, mini Seba."

"How will I know if you're here, then." The nine-year old was not amused.

"You'll hear me, of course!" Charles exclaimed with a puff of his chest, quite proud of himself for his answer.

"...And how will I know if it's you?" the little boy was pursing his lips now—quite poutier than before—all he wanted to get out of this bed, darn it!

The 22-year old only sighed. He had forgotten how perceptive his brother is, no matter what the circumstances are.

"I only want to see Ciel..." was the hushed whisper uttered by the child.

Another sigh from the blue-eyed man.

"You can't see him unless we take away those bandages, you know."

"And that's why I want you to take me to Ciel to feel if he's alright." He was still pouting.

Charles smiled—and Rachel clamped her lips shut for some reason—as he took the tiny bundle of pale flesh and bones to where Ciel lies asleep.

Sebastian slept peacefully beside the brave little boy—ignoring the slightly stinging pain behind his fragile eyelids and the scent of antiseptics wafting in the fluffy pillows.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

He had remembered it all too clearly then, like those lucid dreams that refuse to leave his mind. He had remembered when those bandages were taken away from his eyes. He had opened them and faced the mirror—and right where his right red eye used to be lies a shining blue one staring straight at him. It had reminded him—and will continue to remind him of years to come—of his precious Ciel. The midnight-haired boy—as soon as he woke up—had asked the doctor to remove the bandages on his eyes as well, to see what was the result of his request. Doctor Greis removed the bandages on Ciel's eyes, as he requested.

And as soon as Sebastian had laid his now one good eye to Ciel, he didn't know whether to cry from sadness or joy...

...Because right where Ciel's blue eye used to be was a strange shade of iris—the color of bloody red.

It was Sebastian's.

"_Share me your pain__."_

He had remembered Ciel's words well.

And Sebastian Michaelis had cried in joy and sadness.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

"—ake up!"

A groan.

"Sebastian, wake up!"

A movement from the bed. A shuffle of sheets. A red eye peeked from the coverlets, its hazy mind still willing to rest in sleep, "Hn... What...?" His question was only answered with a smile and a peck to his lips—Ciel's morning greeting. "Time to wake up!" he squealed. Sebastian followed the beaming boy's demand.

"It's Monday already?" the pale boy asked as he sat up and rubbed his right eye. It had been five years since the operation, it had been five years since Ciel's act of bravery was seen, and Sebastian had been the first to experience—to _feel_—that bravery. They were in their ninth year now, both 14 years of age and still inseperable. Since the day that Ciel had donated his cornea to Sebastian, and to exchange his blind right eye with Sebastian's blind one, it had been a feat—Doctor Greis had always been adamant not to perform that surgery, he had stated time and again that the already damaged cornea will affect his eyesight later in time, but that fiery determination in Ciel's heart remained as adamant as he was—and he had given in. _We'll share the pain_, Ciel had said too many times to count.

"Yup!" was the child's reply.

William bowed as he handed them two servings of croissants and a plate of Ceasar salad—as Ciel requested. Despite the change of the years, the butler has yet to see the Michaelis child go to a guest room to sleep rather than cuddling next to his little master every night since "that time." He idly watched the teenagers munching on their chicken legs—torn and ripped with each bite—and sipping on their orange juice—now slightly spilt. He eyed the tiny bits of stains forming on the blankets. One would think that after all these years they'd have some bit of etiquette drilled in their pretty little heads—but _no_, they are still the innocent and childish pair of friends that refuse to outgrow their childish love... At least, that's what Mister Spears tried to think.

With a stiff bow, he hid a smile, "Young masters, today is your first day in school as ninth graders. We must double our efforts to eat and clean up, yes?"

Ciel then beamed at the man, speckles of chicken skin stuck around his chin and lips, and another one between his teeth. "But that is why you're here, yes?"

William only sighed. _Some things never change._

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

"Well then, go on and pick your partners for the self-portrait project! The first pair to present me the best self-portraits will be exempted from the exams next week! Oh, and maybe I'll give them a treat or two, how does that sound?" The cries and shouts of overjoyed and zealous students echoed in the room, making the Arts teacher—Mister Alaist Chamber—twirl in glee. Ciel dreaded that face and that voice with a passion, though he couldn't exactly pinpoint why he disliked the man. It must be because of—

"Ciel?"

The boy in question whipped his head around, strands of midnight blue locks dancing in their wake as his red-blue gaze fell upon Sebastian's smiling face, his current train of thought regarding his teacher now forgotten. "Yes?" the boy asked. It had been five years and Sebastian had certainly grown. At 14 years old, he has been courted by the basketball and volleyball teams numerous times, stating that should he join the team, Queen Victoria's Guardian Academy's name will be soaring to the sky. He kindly declined them all, stating that a "certain someone needs him more than the academy".

"Be my partner for the project?" Sebastian smiled as he stood up—ignoring the cries of various female students vying for his attention—he tried not to snap at their behaviour. It was always like this everyday: a project will be announced and before the teacher could pick anyone as a team or a duo, Sebastian will automatically move to Ciel, it had always been that way ever since. He'll never accept any partner except for Ciel—or maybe Ash, if the teacher truly insists that the two of them be apart for some time—he'd rather deal with Ash than a banshee wail of a girl.

"Of course!" Ciel had replied, giving him the smile that Sebastian always loved.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

"No fair! Sebastian always goes to Cielly-kins when the groupings are announced!"

"But you have to admit, that's better than having another girl near Sebastian, right?"

"Yes, but still..."

"And Ciel is too cute! No one can resist the charms of that boy!"

They giggled.

Sebastian and Ciel walked down the corridors—their fingertips gently brushed as they swayed their lithe arms—both of them desperately ignoring the giggling students behind them, not that the conversation was anything new. This happens everyday, and the two of them don't mind it at all—as long as no one interferes between them, then all is fine.

The two of them turned around a corner, laughing about a joke they have overheard from the students and went outside for some fresh air, sitting under a tree for shade. Sebastian laid out the spread he had retrieved from his bag on the lush grass, smoothing out the wrinkles on the edges and made sure there were no ants around them. Ciel then put down their food for the day—Italian food and Darjeeling tea dashed with honey and milk. They ate in peace, all the while listening to the sounds of their surroundings—the tittering of the girls not far behind them sat down beside one of the fountains in the school grounds, sharing amused and blushing glances towards the inseperable duo with sandwiches on their dainty and polished hands. Sebastian and Ciel only laughed.

As they continued to eat—dessert for today is cherry pie and blueberry tarts—Sebastian's lone blue eye spotted a familiar figure.

A figure decked in white from head to toe—and was running towards him at full speed with a smile stuck on his face and his arms waved about, yelling something about surprises.

No doubt about it.

It was Sebastian's stepbrother, Charles Guelph Grey, all flitting about in his white and shining glory as the professor in Chemistry, Fencing and Culinary Arts in the college department. He still has that passion for baking, after all.

"Mega mini little Seba!" he exclaimed as he tackled the pale teenager on the velveteen spread of checkered red and black on the grass—like he was 12 all over again. Living on earth for 27 years, one would expect for Grey to act like the adult that he is, though after seeing the way he treats his baby brother after all these years—one would think twice if Charles really is the elder of the two.

"Brother! I told you to _stop_ calling me that!"

"Nonsense! No matter how many inches you outgrew me, you'll always be my teeny mega mini little baby brother Sebastian! Nothing can change that! Not even Grandma can change that!"

"What does _she_ have to do with anything?" quipped the boys in unison as they each raised an eyebrow at the unnecesarry afterthought of Charles—and the white-haired man had to hold back and bit his lip as he stood up. The three of them—plus Charles Phipps—had always disliked Granny Victoria (as Grey called her so), for some reason that they could not fathom. They assumed it was because of their dislike of the woman's behaviour in general. She had always hated Sebastian with a passion since he was a child and he never knew why—and Charles refused to tell him anything, saying that such words were not needed to be heard.

As though to answer their—shocking—question, Charles politely smiled and stood up, brushing away the unseen dirt on his uniform and laughed (nervously). Charles tapped his fingers behind his back, the balls of his feet bouncing as he swayed from side to side—and Sebastian thought that something was not right.

"Well," he started, as he finally decided to verbally answer their question with a now strained smile after a few seconds, "Grandmother's visit the last time wasn't the grandest of visits—and certainly wasn't the nicest of all visits—" He heard a snort and a scowl from Ciel (which he thought was uncharacteristic of the sweet little cherub he had come to love as his other "mega little mini" brother), and decided to ignore the pouting face in front of him. He continued, "—But she said she wanted to make it up to you!" He finished his sentence with a high-pitched chirp and an unnerving squeak that he failed to cover up with a cough. Ciel immediately sensed something was wrong—and judging by the way Charles shifted from left to right in a disturbing manner, it was something that he—or they—will certainly not like. He turned to Sebastian with a raised eyebrow and a tight-lipped frown. The raven seemed to catch the message and reassured his friend with a squeeze of his hand and a peck to his cheek—which made some of the female students watching from afar to squeal and sigh from the act. The three males decided to ignore them all.

"I take it this is something that we will not like one bit?" Ciel quipped with furrowed brows and a stern frown. Dread was making its way down to his suddenly parched throat and he did not like the feeling of being filled with dread. Not one bit.

They heard Charles sigh and they looked at each other in confusion.

He tapped his polished shoe once, twice, on the grass as he cleared his throat, careful of the alerted ears on the vicinity—he was aware that the inseperable teens have a hoard of followers everywhere, after all.

He stood still—like a soldier would—and eyed Sebastian and Ciel's slowly darkening expressions, he would have a lot of explaining to do later on.

"What are you plotting?" was their last question before Charles moved away and bowed at the air stiffly—at least, that's what they thought.

Right before they could question Charles' inability to form a proper response, a girl came into their line of vision, blocking their perfect view of the light of the sun as she smiled sweetly, her hands behind her back and her black swirls of ear-length tresses swaying along with the calm wind.

"Hello," was her short greeting—and Sebastian had to stop himself from yelling at the girl for ruining their conversation, there were many distractions enough as it was.

Two blue and red pairs of orbs darted forth to the seemingly amused girl with a stare. "And you are...?" was their unified response to her greeting. When the two of them are angry—one must stop and think about what he or she would say, some of the student body learnt it the hard way, Grell usually finds their treatment of hate to be amusing—this doesn't seem to apply to the newcomer, it seemed.

She fidgeted under their scrutinizing glares and from their odd shades of eyes—and she was sure she felt a strong sense of hatred at the back of her neck, though she did not know why, "Um, yes. Hello. I'm Beatrice Lorum—" She smiled and then twitched as she saw Ciel whisper something to Sebastian's ear, and the pale fourteen-year old nodded, still with a grim face as he looked at her with a scorn. The girl decided to ignore the hateful look. "—And I have been contacted by your grandmother to accompany you for the next few weeks!"

There was silence as soon as those words left her red lipstick-stained mounds—the wind seemed to be kind to fill in the gaps of hush and whispers of the students not far from them.

And Ciel squished Sebastian's arm with much force, making the owner of said arm wince.

"I don't intend to crash your hopes of being with Sebastian, but I am accompanying him and _have always_ been accompanying him since we were five, and no one, not even a newcomer-friend _wannabe_ can change that."

Small and feminine hands were casted away from Sebastian's arm as he started to stand up and fix the half-eaten food and beverage—Ciel grunted as he did so. He stuffed all the things and food in his bag, and with a huff, he glared straight at Sebastian—his anger (and was that jealousy?) rising each time she gazed at the quite buxom girl.

"Let's go."

And with that, he dragged an absentmindedly blinking Sebastian off the grass, leaving a shocked Charles and a puzzled Beatrice in their wake.

Sebastian's "grandmother" is certainly on Ciel's "unwanted people" list now—William had given him that idea years ago, to which he said it would be beneficial should he come across people whom he will not like in the future, it appeared to have achieved a great result, as Ciel was doing as he was advised, he was thankful for William being the family butler—and this Beatrice Lorum's ranking on his list was rising higher and higher as each second passed.

And the raven shared the same thoughts as him as they rushed to the clinic for a safe haven—he assumed they would finish eating there for the time being, Wendy might be kind enough to give them some peaches like the last time—his hand never left Ciel's tiny one despite the vice grip he had on him.

Only one thought rushed in Sebastian's mind as they avoided the students staring at them—clearly puzzled at the frowning and uncharacteristically scowling Phantomhive heir.

_What have you gotten us into this time, Grandmother?_

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Points to those who can guess who Beatrice is. I think it's fairly obvious to who she is. :I *blink*


	14. Fama, Rumors

**Exsequor**

**Summary:** _What have you gotten us into, Grandmother?_

**DISCLAIMER:** Fufufufu~ No. :I

**A/N: ***sigh* I was hoping some of you might know who Beatrice really is. D: Oh well. Um… Should I say it now? Okay. *muffles mouth* XD Anyway, "Vegrandis" is a Latin term for the word, "small". :D It sounds cute to me so I put it as Wendy (and Peter)'s last name. :I Oh, and just so you know, the last name that I gave to Maylene, "Meurtriere", is the Latin term for "murderess"—alluding her role of the assassin in the animanga series. Oh yes, and there's another character in this chapter that I had never intended to pop up in the story. D: And no, that's not you, Joker.

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Ciel continued to drag the taller teen along, determined to get him away from that Beatrice girl—muttering colorful words along the way—how the sweet, innocent little boy he grew to love managed to utter those phrases were beyond Sebastian's comprehension. He assumed it was because of the cursed American movie TV channel that graced Britain's presence nowadays. The pale teen vowed there and then that his precious bride—he continued to dub him as such throughout the years despite knowing his real gender, much to Ciel's embarrassment—will never hear another American show again. Their words sounded too crude to his ears. He'd have to talk to Mister Vincent and Missus Rachel later on.

The tiny taps of shoe-clad feet tumbled upon the door of the school clinic—Ciel being grateful for seeing the face of the sober Missus Wendy Vegrandis—though he would not say that out loud, fearing for the barrage of coos and woos that she had to offer should time come. So he settled his nods and greetings and plopped down on the nearest bed, still dragging Sebastian along with him with a soft, "oomph". He had offered to feed the taller teen—insisting that he would like to do it just like "that" time five years ago—Sebastian complied, and it was because he felt the hurt and the brimming jealousy in those red and blue orbs.

"I'd never give Sebastian to anyone," he had heard him say as he was feeding him a blueberry tart. The raven felt his heart wrench at those whispered words.

Wendy only hummed from her seat—drinking a glass of Bourbon she had obtained from the scarcely-filled fridge—as she eyed the two on the bed with a soft gaze.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

"Ciel, why did you do that?" was what greeted him as soon as he got home. Ronald still gets to fetch him after all these years (although the man himself thinks that it should be William's job, him being the butler and all), and he was prepared to protect the little man should Lady Rachel scold his young master. Apparently, when Rachel got home from teaching another bunch of her cute little students, a very uneasy Angelina was waiting for her in the parlor, and she told the situation to her dear sister—she retold the story, as told by Wendy and the eavesdropping Grell.

He opened his mouth to speak and to defend Ciel's previous actions—he had heard the story through the mouths of the silently watching students (mostly, the female student body) and from a certain white-haired man—and he knew how to retort to the lady of the house in this situation. He _is_ a ladies' man, after all.

"She was being mean," was all Ciel could say before he dashed off to his room, Pluto trailing after him while barking, and this time, he let the dog into his room unlike the previous times when he felt as though the world was turning its back on him. Pluto was the next best companion in times like these. Rachel only frowned. Vincent will not like this once he gets home.

The crying fourteen-year old refused to eat after that—William and his parents' voices never got through him.

Sebastian had called him late at midnight on his cell phone—whispering words of undying love and of never leaving him alone.

Ciel slept peacefully after that—his phone clutched loosely in between small and feminine hands.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

It has been one month since her transfer to the Academy—apparently, the "accompanying him for the next few weeks" tirade she had declared on that fateful day to Sebastian (and inadvertently, to Ciel) on the school grounds had evolved into situations that she could barely handle—and no matter what situation she was in, it had always been the same.

Ever since the day that Ciel Phantomhive dragged Sebastian Michaelis away from the quite attractive girl, the female students have been spreading lies and rumors about her, which she had been expecting since then. But then again...

_This_ type of rumor was not what she had been expecting as she made her way down the hallway.

"_Did you hear? That girl was seen trying to get The Raven's attention again!"_

"_No way, will she ever learn? No one can come close to him as long as our Cielly-kins is around. She should know better! Did you see the look he gave her this morning? That was scary! He almost melted her with his eyes!"_

"_That's Ciel Phantomhive for you! He has been his property ever since kindergarten, and everyone knows that!"_

"_Apparently, she doesn't know it yet."_

Laughter.

"_Well, _I_ heard that she had been trying to get Professor Charles' attention!"_

"_No. Way. She can't even keep her eyes to herself! Just because she has that body doesn't mean that she has to parade herself on every man she meets!"_

"_I know, right! That's disgusting!"_

"_And to think that Professor Charles was the one who brought her here. I feel sorry for him—bringing that nuisance to the Victoria's Guardian name."_

Beatrice picked up her broken self as she walked to her Biology class, careful to avoid bumping into any of the students along the way—inside, Sebastian and Ciel laughed along with another of her three classmates. The girl with reddish-violet hair who was propped on one of the armrests of a chair raised a well-trimmed eyebrow as Beatrice silently took a seat at the back, as though that was enough to not direct attention on her.

Maylene—as Beatrice recalled—was one of the many supporters of Sebastian being with Ciel. Rule number one. Never cross her unless you want to be ended up drilled with holes. It had been said that she was great at aiming with airsoft guns (with Airsoft being a sport Maylene took great pride in), and she always took things to a higher notch. Beatrice would rather not dwell into specific details.

Beatrice only shrunk in her seat as Maylene grinned—her chin propped on her palm as her elbow rested on her knee.

She gives no mercy to those who oppose the little Phantomhive—and this Beatrice Lorum seemed like she was doing things that would irk the bespectacled thirteen-year old.

She glanced towards the laughing Ciel and the silently smiling Sebastian—and she decided there and then that a meeting with the female student body is in order.

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"Lady Maylene! Why did you call us?"

"Is it urgent?"

"Did another girl try to hit on The Raven again?"

"Did Professor Chamber do something inappropriate again?"

"Did someone try to pinch Ciel's cheeks again?"

Maylene Meurtriere—future heiress to the Meurtriere Company of Gunneries and runs the "Power of the Woman" club in the Academy (on which she is also dubbed as "Lady Maylene" by her juniors and seniors alike)—sat back in her plush chair, void of her eyeglasses as her fingers tapped the table. She held out her palm, and the crowd suddenly hushed.

She loved the feeling of power in her hands.

"It's that Beatrice girl again, isn't it," said one student.

The hall was silent.

"Correct," Maylene smiled as she stood and faced the crowd of whispering amorous female students—her shoulders and chest heaved with pride as she walked to the podium, her heels clicked on the wooden surface.

She eyed the crowd—sharp eyes looking for anything amiss—satisfied, she continued. "As you can see, this Lorum girl is headstrong on getting The Raven's attention which she is currently failing at—and we are thankful because The Raven hadn't spared a glance towards her, thanks to Master Ciel." She smiled as she said the boy's name. She had been calling him "master" ever since she heard of the act of bravery he did for the sake of Sebastian's well-being. And since then, she was captivated by the boy's charms and gallantry—the same goes for her attraction towards Sebastian, albeit it's because of his undying loyalty and devotion to Ciel.

One student piped up amongst the whispering crowd, "But those rumors will reach the ends of the Academy and it will ruin her!" The roaring students all agreed. It had been their plan all along.

Maylene raised her palm once more, and the crowd silenced as they looked at her sharp brown eyes. Some of the females gulped at her intense gaze.

"That was not what I had originally intended, nor was spreading such derogatory rumors in school. Who initiated it?"

The females whispered and looked around—trying to silently answer their Lady's question in a form of pinpointing, but to no avail—and as Maylene scrunched up her nose in distaste, a hand was raised among the throngs of students. The redhead tilted her chin.

"_I_ initiated the plan, milady."

Maylene's back suddenly stiffened at that lilting voice and that vision of one-sided carefully drilled ponytail of auburn-hued locks.

_So, she had decided to join the club, after all._

"Nina Hopkins."

At this, the fifteen-year old girl bowed, the deep line of her cleavage emphasizing the curves of her womanly body as she dipped her head, and whispered as she smiled.

"At your service, milady."

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A shrill ringing of the phone could be heard in the vacancy of one of the classrooms.

"Yes, hello? …Oh, Grandmother!"

"_You don't have the right to call me your grandmother yet, child."_

A nervous chuckle was heard, and she wrinkled the hem of her skirt, "Yes, I apologize."

A breath of unsteady rhythm could be heard on the other line, and then, "_I take it you're being successful with your mission?"_ The girl on the other end bit her red-hued lips, her eyes flitted from left to right, "Um… Actually, no, Grandm—"

"_I told you not to call me that unless you have been successful!"_

Her black curly hair bounced as she winced, "I apologize."

"_And seeing that you're still unsuccessful after one month of being there—I'd say you're being distracted, just like that child."_ There was a huff of breath on the other line.

The girl steadied her palpitating heart as she swallowed, "But Gran—Missus Guelph, that person is in love with another—"

"_Hush, child! I don't want to hear any excuses from you! You_ will_ get that half-blinded boy separated from that child or you'll be back on the streets with your brother! I don't want him to end up being like my failure of a grandson!"_

And the line went dead.

Beatrice cried.

From outside the room, a redhead frowned.

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"Hello, miss! I see you're frowning on this fine Thursday morning!"

The aforementioned frowning miss looked up at her intruder—she had been thinking of new ways to get the attention of that Michaelis boy, and this creepy, red-orange haired person suddenly came up to her! And not to mention her entrance this morning was not what she had imagined it to be. Today, she had been dubbed by the student body as, "The Prowling Beast of Victoria's Guardian Academy"—a title that she had been cursing for the past three hours and thirty minutes. To top it off, this random person kept on following her as she made her way to her locker! Oh, how rude.

Hearing the cackling voice of this person—she swore he was her classmate in Art Class, the one who kept telling random jokes while splashing watercolors on his canvas all the while drawing little skeletons on them—she finally snapped as she whipped her head, ignoring the cruel murmurs of the females passing them by (_"Oh, so now it's The Joker she's pawing at?"_)—talking to him did not lighten her mood in the slightest.

"You, _sir,_ have been irritating me for some time now. If I may be so bold, would you please kindly leave? Me talking to you doesn't help me at all," she frowned, and she could feel the glares of the female students behind her. The sooner this person leaves, the better, she thought.

To her dismay, the male only laughed, not caring for the startled looks of the students around him—it seemed that they were already used to his antics, Beatrice frowned further at the thought—when he had finished laughing and wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes, he held out his hand and smiled from ear to ear, "As much as I would like to be called as a 'sir', I must say that I have a name, little miss. My name is Jester Gleeman, otherwise famously known in the Academy as 'The Joker'. Nice to be your acquaintance, Miss…"

"Lorum."

The fourteen-year old raised his eyebrows in speculation, "Lorum? The Beatrice Lorum girl that prowls the school grounds for men?"

His head suddenly snapped on the side, the resounding smack had his neck and left cheek temporarily paralyzed.

"I believe that believing in false rumors is nothing but sheer idiocy."

And with that, Beatrice Lorum left the hallway—glaring straight at anyone who may try to meet her furious eyes.

Jester, who stood still after a few seconds, managed to massage his tingling cheek while smiling at the retreating figure of Beatrice, his teeth shining at the world that was enough to rival Grell's toothy grin.

"Interesting."

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BWAHAHAH~! XDDD I was planning on making this chapter longer, but I'm afraid that the chapter might be too long. D: Until next time, people~! 8D


	15. Vigilare, Be Vigilant

**Exsequor**

**Summary:** _"They said that Professor Charles will come to your Ciel's house and bring that Lorum filth with him!"_

**DISCLAIMER:** No own.

**A/N: **Current stats: 15,929 hits, 97 faves, 102 alerts and 121 reviews… zomg thank you~ XD To Mistress Flamingo, I never planned to make this into uh… a tragedy, yes. D: I plan on making Vincent and Rachel live. They've been killed too many times in most fanfics, and I want to see them alive for once, so… Sorry. D: *bows repeatedly* And yes, Nina was the unexpected character. How did you guys know? XD

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It had been two months since Beatrice graced the Academy with her presence, with "graced" being the understated word—the females had been clamoring on ways to get rid of her, but to no avail. And today was no different than what it had been a month ago. Ciel sighed as he lightly touched the tips of his bottom lip, relishing the chaste kiss that he shared with Sebastian this morning. It was nothing sort of the malicious and lustful kisses that he saw on movies lately—it was far from that, really, it was only a soft peck on the lips, complete with a barely heard _smack_—but he relished those few seconds of his pale lips on his. It seemed that he was determined to express how loyal he was to him, and it made Ciel smile for his efforts. Yes, nothing and no one can separate him and Sebastian, and that hindrance of a girl will know of it. He was about to daydream once again until he heard a familiar clop of footsteps from the end of the hallway. The midnight-haired boy hastily picked up a random notebook from his bag in hopes of keeping away the nuisance that was about to enter the classroom.

"Ciel, Ciel! Have you heard of the latest!"

Alas, Fate has decided to laugh at him at the moment.

He sighed, "If it's about another one of your so-called 'hunk radars' coming off—don't mention it to me. I refuse to acknowledge what it actually means."

A pair of lips pouted in front of his sight, and Ciel had to move away and slap his face with his notebook.

Grell had been annoying lately—not that that was something new itself—but he hadn't been his usually annoying self; getting lots of gossip about Beatrice Lorum everyday had his ears tweaking at every possible second every time someone mentions her name. When he first heard from Elizabeth that this newly-transferred fourteen-year old girl was "using her body as a bait for unsuspecting male students and teachers alike"—as mentioned by Elizabeth and the knowledgeable upperclassman, Nina (he adored her for her clothing designs, but his Madam Red is still the best)—he couldn't help but fume. He hadn't even gotten hold of The Raven (knowing that Ciel is always around him) and this... this Medusa is flirtatiously swaying her hips at him?

How utterly and despicably _disgusting._

—And someone kept on tapping his shoulder!

"...Grell, get away from my bride."

_He's no one's bride, darn it!_

Grell turned, ready to slap the face of whoever is ruining his moment of woe.

"—What bride, huh!"

Silence.

Green eyes met red and blue.

"...Oh. Right. Bride. Sorry, Sebastian."

The black-haired male only distanced himself from Grell and ruffled Ciel's hair—making the smaller teen pout, but made no move to push his hand away. He was secretly enjoying the contact, after all. Sebastian then turned to Grell, who was now twiddling with his hair and kept on looking at him with puppy dog eyes. Sebastian gave up.

"...What is it this time, Grell?"

Upon hearing his name, he shyly covered his lips and batted his eyelashes at the teen, eliciting a response in a form of a deep sigh of resignation from The Raven. Hearing that wistful sigh flattened the hopes of Grell being able to touch Sebastian—not that he was already giving up on him.

"Well, as I was saying before you so rudely intruded upon our conversation. I heard something new about Little Betty Boop!"

"Her name's Beatrice, Grell," came the uninterested and unified response of Sebastian and Ciel. The redhead only flipped his hair for interrupting his speech.

"Whatever, you two. Anyway, like I said, someone made a huge stink about this one."

Sebastian's eye twitched, "Just say it already so I can sit on my seat—you're hogging up my space."

Grell looked at the tall teen in front of him with an annoyed look—must he really be intruding his speech every few seconds?—and with another flip of his waist-length hair, he grinned.

"Elizabeth said that Maylene said that Nina said that Missus Wendy said that my Madam Red said that Beasty Lorum will infiltrate a certain someone's house."

The two fourteen-year olds looked at each other, skeptical to where this conversation will lead to. "And this certain someone's house is...?" they replied in unison once again. Grell somehow finds it amazing how these two can finish each other's sentences and sometimes talk at the same time and at the same pace. He was suddenly reminded of some silent triplets on his Gym Class…

...Never mind that for now.

"...Never mind that for now," he repeated out loud while shaking his head—Ciel thought that the bespectacled teen was going crazy, but shrugged his opinion away, he _had_ always been acting like a lovesick fool.

Sebastian had enough and as he removed his hand away from Ciel's hair—the latter felt the coldness seep through his scalp—and yanked Grell's necktie, his ruby and sapphire eyes glaring daggers at his eyeglasses.

"You're the one who started this and you're going to finish this conversation. You have five seconds to spit out whatever you're going to say or I'll have you thrown in your locker."

Grell seemed to have forgotten how impatient Sebastian becomes when it comes to matters of time—the only times he's willing to wait even for a lifetime are the times when he's with Ciel and his precious moments with those random cats he sees on their way home... and of course, his times with his pet cat, Tabitha.

The redhead flailed as he pushed those thoughts away.

"Okay, okay! I'll say it!"

Sebastian tightened his hold on his tie as Grell practically shoved a finger towards Ciel's appalled façade.

"They said that Professor Charles will come to your Ciel's house and bring that Lorum filth with him!"

And at that exact moment, Ciel's world stopped.

He hadn't heard of the furious cries of Grell's warning—something about Beatrice keeping her hands and eyes to herself should she stay in the house and not speaking to William unless she wanted to be shredded by his scissors—he only snapped out of his reverie by the voice of their teacher.

He didn't realize when the class had started to sound so quiet.

Sebastian gazed at the still dazed Ciel—eyebrows furrowing in worry and distraught.

Looks like he has to reassure Ciel once again to whom his heart really belongs to.

The Raven smiled to himself.

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"Now be good, boys, they will be here in a minute!" Rachel smiled as she helped Angela with the preparations on the table—rushing here and there while Angela nodded and followed her mistress' instructions.

Grell decided to come along in his reddest attire—and dragged Angelina with him, of course—and knowing that Beatrice will be in the Phantomhive manor any minute, he decided to keep a watchful eye on his William. He didn't care if the man was already 27 years old and they have a huge age gap between them, he'll slice that Beatrice away if she ever lays her hideous eyeliner-dabbed eyes on him!

...At least, that's what he thought.

A flustered Maylene and a level-headed Nina were also there, dragging along Bard and Finnian with them—although it was only because Maylene begged to go with them, Nina ignored the two males throughout the whole ordeal. The brown-eyed girl kept on a lookout if anything bad should happen again, she would pretty much like to stick with Ciel and Sebastian, _especially_ if Mister Grey's grandmother will be around. She didn't want last year's incident to repeat itself, after all.

Ash was also there, donned in his usual white slacks, shoes and coat to complement his snow-hued hair—and much to the other students' shock—they didn't know that he and the Phantomhive maid were related. The only reason he came to the manor was all because of his dear elder sister, Angela (he refused to admit that he did feel a little nervous for Sebastian today). He had asked her if she was being treated well (he already knew the answer that she was happy and well, judging by her smiles and gentle laughs). Now, if only Finnian would stop staring at his beloved sister with those sparkling blue eyes...

Frances and Elizabeth Middleford were also there—they both wanted to see how this "Missus Guelph" will treat the Phantomhive heir this time. As much as possible, Frances will, by all means, guard her nephew and his family like a hawk.

She will never be able to stand it if the older woman will slap the Michaelis boy again. He was only nine years old at that time and he didn't deserve such cruel treatment under the wings of his foster grandmother—and in front of the public, no less.

Ciel and Sebastian were already in the dining hall, all prim and proper in their coats and slacks as they sat on the plush chairs—Ciel thought the clothes were too stuffy, but Frances would have none of it as she slicked back his hair with her spare comb and extra hair gel, and the same goes to poor Sebastian (_"The next time I'll see you, you will cut off that fringe.__And don't touch my nephew's hand so freely! You'll be able to touch him all you want once both of you are of legal age!"_)—and as they heard the shrill ring of the doorbell, the occupants of the dining hall jumped in their seats.

Sebastian held Ciel's hand as they heard the ominous footsteps and Charles' cheerful greeting.

As soon the Double Charles and the fierce Victoria Guelph entered the room, all eyes were frozen on the elderly woman. Grell's eyes then zoomed in on the all-too-familiar splash of black and red fabrics behind the stoic Charles Phipps—and there, sporting a shy and innocent vibe in her plain black shirt and mid-thigh length skirt while her face was donned in paints and sprinkles of make-up not fitted for a fourteen-year old (_You flirtatious scum!_), was Beatrice Lorum.

In that exact moment, Ciel and Grell felt their blood run cold, their mind gears slowly turning, _plotting_, for a way to make her leave the house. A pair of green and heterochromatic eyes met.

And a silent agreement was formed.

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"While I would say that I am pleased to know that the boy is not failing in any of his subjects, I am still distressed about the idea of Michaelis being with your son. He is too... _chummy_, with that little tot."

The tension rose as soon as she said that sentence. The children have already been playing for the past hour since their meal had ended, with only Nina, Finnian, Grell and Beatrice remaining in their seats. Where Beatrice is, Grell would follow, making sure she'll make no move on his precious William. For the past couple of hours, the flow of conversation was running smoothly—William could even breathe properly despite the stuffy necktie and collar around his neck, and Angela could serve tea without spilling any droplets. The poor woman had been distressed since she learnt of her arrival, and was still fussing mentally for the safety of Sebastian. She could still remember the events of that fateful day clearly, even though it has been a full year since it happened. She clenched her jaw as she thought over a specific scene of that day.

It had been quite a day on that specific month of that specific year—she had been enthralled with the way Master Charles' grandmother projected herself—she was all regal and elegant and all words royal. She had greeted her with a smile then, to which she was only responded with a snub tilt of the nose and a couple of batting eyelashes. Angela had smiled nonetheless. William had sensed her sudden discomfort—she knew just as much—those emerald eyes never left her, after all.

It had started with a question right after tea time—at least, that's what she thought—a question that Missus Guelph slowly and hoarsely asked. She had asked who was the eye donor of Sebastian, and when Ciel happily raised his arm and pointed to his right eye and told her it was him, the look on her face was frightening, to say the least.

As soon as she heard the story from all sides—she threw her food-stained napkin on the table and hurriedly went over to the other end of the table where Sebastian sat and promptly slapped his face in front of them.

"_You disgraceful child. Dragging down other people to your fate. How __shameful,"_ she had remembered her say to her foster grandson.

Mister Grey had defended the child's act of bravery and the deep bond of their friendship, but the elderly woman only shrugged it as an act of impulse—all the while disregarding the sounds of Ciel crying and running over to Sebastian.

Angela—and also Rachel—knew there and then that the sudden action that Ciel did on Sebastian was what made Victoria Guelph incredulous. The Phantomhive maid clearly remembered her practically seething at her grandson's direction, accusing him of something that he never did—she had accused Charles that he had poisoned the mind of Sebastian—something that the then 26-year old vehemently denied.

Everything went downhill from there.

Angela shook her head as she locked those memories in her mind once again. She looked at her master who had his cup of tea hovering near his lips, his mouth agape at the woman's words.

Angela thought that the same incident will happen once again—only on a much more destructive scale.

"I apologize, but are you trying to say that _your_ grandson being friends my son is _wrong_?"

It was Rachel's voice—barely-concealed in shock and disgust at how this woman described the friendship of her son and Sebastian.

The white-haired maid discreetly looked at William, and the man knew what she tried to say with those violet eyes. The butler nodded.

"First of all, he is not my grandson and _never_ will be my grandson, and _second_ of all, yes, I am trying to say that being friends with him for too long will only bring sin and tragedy later on in their lives."

A crash of plates and glass resonated in the room, along with a teeth-grinding screech of a chair being pushed back too far and landed on the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

"What are you insinuating, Missus Guelph? That my son will ruin Sebastian's life?"

Charles Grey bit his lip and sunk a few centimeters in his chair, visibly frightened by the sudden flash of anger by Missus Rachel. She rarely gets angry, that much he knew. Being associated with her for the past nine years, he knew how the lady of the Phantomhive's mind works, and this sudden ringing of a rising pitch and voice from her did not bode well. The servants thought so as well, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tanaka getting a pitcher and another glass of water, along with her breather, should anything happen. Charles could also see Angela fidgeting with her fingers behind a silent Nina.

"That boy will be the downfall of that child!" Victoria shrieked as she, too, stood up and pushed the chair behind her too far, causing it to wreck havoc on the carpet.

"How so?"

"I know that he will be his grave!"

"They're only children!"

"Stop!"

All eyes turned to the sound of that scream.

It was Charles Grey, standing red in the cheeks and ears—both in embarrassment and fear and hatred.

He was flushed and sick and tired of the same thing happening over and over again. It was time to end this chapter of his life once and for all.

"It has nothing to do with Sebastian, Grandmother."

"All this happened because of you! If only _you_ didn't quit your job being a soldier, none of this would have happened!"

"That has nothing to do with this!"

"It has _everything_ to do with this!"

Silence. A huff of breath. The room was silent. No seated occupant in the room dared to breathe. Rachel, who was still standing, only opened her mouth to say and ask something—but dared not to voice out her question.

Victoria looked around the room and its occupants as she moistened her chapped and wrinkled lips. She took a sip of water from her glass and eyed her grandson once again. The woman lowered her voice.

"If only you hadn't thrown away your life and career for that man beside you, this would have never happened. Sebastian could live with a normal life and I would have never thought of this paranoia that has been eating me since I laid eyes on Little Ciel."

The Phantomhive couple looked at each other in bewilderment. Nothing was making sense. They looked at the Double Charles in curiosity, their mouths forming a question of "why".

Charles Phipps only lowered his head.

"That was my own path, Grandmother. Please don't drag Sebastian into this."

The 60-year old woman sighed and she turned to look at her overturned chair—William was quick on his knees to put it back in its previous position and helped her back on her seat. She nodded her silent thanks as she spoke to Charles.

"The Guelph family line has been a family of soldiers—you were doomed to be born in this family from the start. If only you didn't adopt Sebastian, then I would have never chosen this as an option."

At this point, Rachel, with the help of Angela and Nina, helped the teacher get back on her seat. Tanaka was right beside her in case she gets another round of asthma attacks. Despite it, all their ears were trained on the sternly-speaking woman in front of them.

"And Sebastian will be my replacement, is that what you're saying, Grandmother?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I'm saying. I will remove that child from Sebastian's life and have her live with Beatrice over here to set him straight—away from the path you have gravely chosen. Beatrice!"

At this, the timid girl who was as silent as the wind and bowed her head throughout while eating squeaked in her seat at the mention of her name. No matter how many times she hears her name come out of the elder woman's mouth—it always scared her to no end for some reason.

"Y-yes, Missus Guelph?"

"Be a good girl for me and do me a favor, please. Go out and search Sebastian and spend some time with him in the gardens."

Silence reigned in the room once more.

"…Alone."

Realization dawned upon her as she hastily stood up and knocked a fork towards the floor—she didn't deserve Sebastian's attention, and he's making William's job harder by knocking over things, Grell observed (the butler was getting close to yelling at this point, he shared the same thoughts as him, he smiled to himself once again)—and squeaked an awkward, "Right away, madam!"

Nonetheless, it irked both Grell and Nina as she twiddled with her fingers and ran off to the direction of the door, with Nina and Grell following close behind—their excuse was to go to the bathroom—and Rachel nodded, understanding their real motives. Finnian was oblivious to it all, deciding to just look at how violet Angela's eyes were.

As soon as they left and purposely let Beatrice trot away to the direction of the piano room—thank heavens for her inept sense of direction, she was going the wrong way!—Nina soon grabbed her phone from her purse and speed-dialled Maylene, Grell was now running on full speed towards the garden (because he knew by instinct where Sebastian is, and where Sebastian is, Ciel is also there) and she had to catch up with him.

When the phone picked up and was answered by a skeptical Maylene, all Nina said was, "We have a problem here. A _big_ problem."

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Once Maylene knew of the story through Nina, she took no time to waste as she dragged Ciel along, and Ciel dragging Sebastian along, knowing that the taller teen will follow him wherever he went without question. She briefly told Ash and Bard and called Finnian about the situation, and went to their respective positions in the mansion, as per her command.

"Maylene, where are we going?" Ciel asked as they turned to a corner, their shoes tapping on the maroon carpet on the hallways.

"Somewhere safe, Master," was her only reply. She had taken off her eyeglasses during their sprint—Ciel concluded that something was not right. When Maylene Meurtriere takes off her glasses, expect that something will bound to happen—that something usually taken as, "a dreadful event". He knew just as much. Ciel glanced back at Sebastian, shaking his head—as though answering Ciel's previous question. Even the raven did not know what was happening.

That "somewhere safe" that Maylene declared was Ciel's room, which had been her hiding place when they were younger, when they were five years old to be exact—she had told them to stay there and to lock the door—Ciel had repeatedly asked her what was happening, but she only answered that everything was okay.

"If everything's okay, then why are you locking us?" Ciel had asked, and it took all of Sebastian's strength to calm the smaller boy down by tracing little circles on his shoulders.

"Just stay here, Master! And whatever you do, don't let Mister Sebastian stray from your sights! Beatrice has made a move on pursuing him again! Grell and I will keep her at bay, I'll tell you the details later, but for now, _please stay_!"

And with that, she closed the door—Sebastian immediately locked it, trusting her judgment for once.

He sighed and turned around—wanting to comfort Ciel in times like these, "Ciel, I think we should—"

"Yes, we should."

Sebastian shook his head, exasperated by the whole goose chase tirade, "Yes, we should—Wait. We should what?"

As though Ciel had suddenly come up with a marvelous idea—judging by his smiling face and bouncing on his feet—the fourteen-year old pecked Sebastian on the cheek, "We should escape while we can."

The pale teen, for the most part, was shocked at the sudden utterance by his best friend. First, Beatrice goes after him, and now this?

"Ciel, I don't think you understand—"

"I _do_ understand, that's why we're escaping! Remember that small tunnel you dug six years ago?"

Sebastian nodded, not quite following. He had dug up a tunnel from the backyard of his brother straight to the Phantomhive garden—which was carefully molded and was quite hidden from view, thanks to the hydrangeas that Ronald (and sometimes Angela) took care of. Thankfully, they were the only ones who knew about Sebastian's construction and destruction of the two backyards—and thankfully, they had never told a soul about it.

"What about it?" Sebastian asked.

"We'll go to your house and hide there! That girl won't be able to find us there! Once we're in, we'll just tell Nina to tell it to Mother!" Ciel happily supplied, and Sebastian laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

He ruffled his hair and kissed the teen's forehead, "Oh, Ciel. What ever will I do without you?"

"I love you too much, so I can't be without Sebastian!"

Sebastian only held him tight and kissed his ear.

Outside the room, Finnian played with Pluto, with him acting as a decoy should he come across Beatrice.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

_They had been fourteen when they started to shy away from the world. They had been fourteen when they shared their official first kiss in Sebastian's room__—laughing as they thought that Beatrice was going insane from finding them._

_They had been fourteen when they realized that their love was not meant to be._

_It was the start of their downfall._

_And they welcomed it with open arms._

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

*drum roll please* EPIC BATTLE OF WORDS BETWEEN MAYLENE AND BEAST WILL COME NEXT! 8D


	16. Recordatio, Recollection

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_"If only she could understand..."_

**DISCLAIMER: **No.

**A/N:** Current stats: 16,769 hits, 103 faves, 107 alerts and 130 reviews. XD Thank you so much~ :3 Oh, and rating has bumped to T~! 8D

* * *

She maneuvered her way around the silent corridors of the Phantomhive manor, feeling quite uneasy as she took another step—she wasn't fond of huge houses, after all. They terrified her, they make her feel cold from inside out, they make her feel isolated.

She had started her search in one of the random rooms she had picked out—the door was ajar, maybe he's inside?

Beatrice took a peek—silently cursing the squeaking hinges—and there in the room, was one of the persons she had avoided since day one.

It was that American boy—that Bardroy Blaisdell—oh, and it seemed that someone was with him.

She opened the door further and tried to locate the source of the other voice, and when she did look, she found herself face to face with a violet eye.

"Hello, little lady," was what the violet eye said.

It took a moment for a shocked Beatrice to recover before the door was opened—_smashed_—to the wall by an irate-looking Ash. The fact that the white-haired teen didn't have enough time to talk life with his dear sister made him irritable—and he blamed it all on this garish-looking—_Unclean!—_girl.

"Uh... Um..."

Ash leant against the doorway, his arms crossed as he arched an eyebrow to the bumbling student, waiting for the girl to say a coherent sentence for once.

"Um... Uh. I—"

"Look. If you have nothing to say, please stop wasting my time. I have problems enough as it is so—agh!"

Bard was quick to interrupt as he paused his video game on one of the two PS3s in the house (_And I was this close to getting to Fort Indepedence, too! Darn it._)—he knew pushing Ash to the nearest vertical surface was a bad idea—which was the wall (he'd put up with Ash's menacing glares for now, because Sebastian's glares are worse)—but it was Maylene's plan to distract this girl, and to distract her was what he's going to do.

"Hey, Trix."

Beatrice scoffed as she sneered at the scruffy-looking blond before her, "_Excuse me?_"

Bard only sighed as he rumpled his hair, "Trix. From Beatrice. Well, it would be typical if I call you "Trish" since it's a common name so I just called y—"

A hand was stopped in front of his face, "I get it. Just—stop explaining things to me."

There was an awkward silence—followed by the shuffling of Ash from behind the door, mumbling not so silent curses about the inexcusable actions of a certain blond—and Bard only smiled as Beatrice giggled (from Ash's reactions, probably). At least, the tense atmosphere was lifted for a bit.

After nudging Ash aside for the second time (_"When they're all gone, I'll have your head for my doves."_), Bard ushered Beatrice to go inside the room.

"Want to play _Fallout 3_?" he asked. Beatrice shook her head.

"Oh, come on! It's a great game and you're missing out! I'll make a new profile for you!" He (gently) forced her to take a seat, on which she denied a few times. Though when she saw the pout on her classmate's face, she resigned to her fate.

She sighed, "Alright. But only for a few minutes—I need to find—"

"You can find that someday! Here, sit, sit!"

Beatrice sat as she was given the controller.

Bard grinned from behind. Ash glared as he resumed playing on his DS.

_Maylene would be so proud of me!_

* * *

"Mum? Yes, We're here. Yup... In Sebastian's room. Are they still there? ...Uh huh. Alright. Tell Mister Charles we're okay... Oh, that's a secret! Bye, mother!"

Click.

"What's a secret?"

"Mother's asking how we got out of the house without anyone noticing."

"You should have told her, you know."

A pout. "No, that passage is only for us and us alone. No one will know of it and it will stay that way."

Sebastian put down his cat care magazine and looked at Ciel with a pointed finger, "You do know that your servants know the passage too, right?" He grunted as Ciel jumped on the bed with a happy cry—_whee!_—and promptly nuzzled Tabitha's fur. The boy laughed, "But they'll never tell it to anyone, I know of it! And besides, even if Angela tells my mother about it, I doubt she'll do anything about it. She'll probably laugh and say something about it being cute and cool at the same time." He looked smug and proud—Sebastian mused.

"Looks like you have a lot of confidence about them, huh."

"Of course!"

Sebastian could only kiss his forehead.

_I love you._

* * *

"Look, I really have to go—"

"But you haven't even gotten a proper head shot! You're only hitting the arms and legs and you show yourself to the enemy too much! I need to teach you how to crouch and sneak on your target!"

Beatrice giggled—awkwardly—as she handed back the controller. The game was filled with gore and disturbing close-ups and she did not like it. Not to mention it was already 2:30 in the afternoon, Missus Guelph will be angry.

"I don't think this game is for me. Thank you for teaching it to me, though."

"At least just _one head shot_!"

Beatrice had already left with a silent click of the door.

"Darn it!"

"Please refrain yourself from throwing that controller unless you want an earful from Sir Vincent."

"...Sorry."

Ash put down his DS—he had a competition for one of his dogs in one of his _Nintendogs_ games, and this dreadful noise of exploding body parts kept distracting him—and sighed, "At least you distracted her for two hours. That's an ample time."

Bard grumbled as he stared at the main menu on the screen before him, "Not for Maylene, it's not."

"You'll be fine. It's not like she'll strangle you to death."

Apparently, the strangling scene was what Bard was thinking.

"I need to clear up my mind."

"By killing fictional 3-D monsters?"

"Yup."

Ash only sighed.

_I want to talk to my sister now._

* * *

"Where is he?"

Beatrice, once again, wandered the hallways in search for a certain tall, pale, red and blue-eyed teenager—silently cursing the male for being so evasive—and cursed herself for not protecting Mister Charles.

Her optimism was dampened when she saw not the certain male she was looking for, but the notorious fashion designer prodigy, Nina Hopkins.

"Hello, polyester."

"What?" _What is it with these people calling me names?_

"It means you're a common cloth."

Beatrice held her breath.

_Not again._

* * *

Ciel hopped and rolled in Sebastian's bed, and sniffed at all the clothes his bitty hands can hold. The owner of the room didn't mind it at all. It was a nice change of atmosphere, for once. It always felt lonely in his room—hence, why he's always at Ciel's place.

"Just tell me if I'm ruining your clothes."

Sebastian laughed and shook his head with a smile, "It's alright." The teen's mood was further elevated when he heard Ciel squeal and hug one of his fur coats. He said that he doesn't have as much fur coats as he has, so why not let him hug all of the fur coats since he looked like he wants to hug them?

"They're so soft!" the teen had exclaimed, and Sebastian could only smile as Tabitha meowed—she was also curling around one of the fur coats—the pale teen felt giddy.

"Do you want one?" the raven asked, and blinked when Ciel pouted and hugged his faux tiger fur coat. He doesn't really need many fur coats—it was only his brother who wanted them for him, stating it was "cute" on him.

"But Mister Charles bought them for you."

Sebastian smiled as he went over the bed and pecked his cheek, his lips hovered on the shell of the boy's ear, "Which means they're mine now. And because they're now mine, I want to give them to you."

"I won't take all of them, you know. You'll have nothing to wear."

"Wouldn't you like that, though?"

Ciel stared at his friend as though he had another eye stuck on his forehead. His mouth gaped as he smiled with a dust of pink on his cheeks, the fur coat was forgotten on his lap, "What?"

Sebastian looked away and scratched his nose—embarrassed—as he moistened his lips, his cheeks suddenly felt warm, "I said, wouldn't you like it having me prance around you without clothes?"

"And why would I like that?" was the teen's retort.

Sebastian—still feeling a bit shy about his earlier comment—only smiled. For some reason, he couldn't stop grinning like a fool, "Why would you _not_ like that?"

Ciel—who was twiddling with the soft texture of fur on his lap, only bit his cheek as he stared at Sebastian—kissed his friend's cheek and giggled, "I don't like it because you might catch a cold. I don't want that." He then hugged Sebastian and nuzzled his cheek on his collarbone.

The raven smiled and shook his head—the pinkish hue on his face faded just a bit.

_So that's what it was. I should have known. Heh._

Arms were wrapped around warm backs, humming softly to the song of their beating hearts and of the shuffles of cloth and fur, eyes closing to the gentle charms of a welcoming kiss.

And they were content.

* * *

"Miss Maylene—"

"That's Lady Maylene to you."

Beatrice bit her lip and twiddled with the hem of her skirt. Her luck hasn't smiled on her since she step foot in this "rich girl" life; away from the streets and rats and garbage that polluted London's air, she didn't know if she should cry anymore. After being measured by Nina in the music room for about an hour and a half—_"You have nice assets! Let me get my measuring tape! I'll make you a bunny suit! The pink and bulky one, not the sexy one. The sexy one's on Maylene, not yours."—_she was sure that they were distracting her on purpose. For what purpose, she did not know why.

"Um, _Lady_ Maylene. Please let me pass. I need to see—"

"Mister Sebastian?"

"Uh. Yes."

The 13-year-old flipped her hair with a whip of her head—she had long let it frame her face since she went to Ciel's room—and raised an eyebrow at the fidgeting girl before her. No. She refused to accept this girl—_Beast!_—as her classmate, she was just a girl with no background of a decent upbringing whatsoever; and this episode of chasing Mister Sebastian and trying to woo him (which, thankfully she's failing at) proved that in fact, she is considered as... what do you call it?

Oh, yes.

"A lowlife."

Beatrice's heart stopped as she looked up—brown eyes wide and mouth in a circle—at the unfazed and stern-looking female before her. No. No. This was not happening again—

"I'm not a lowlife," was what the ebony-haired girl said—her heart raced—her shoulders shivered—no, not now. _Not now._

"I know. You're lower than a lowlife. You're dirt."

Step.

She could not speak. _No. Not again._

"Since the day you made Master Ciel scared for his love—for _his_ Sebastian—I grew to hate you. He has never been scared of having him stolen, because he knew he was his. But you," she seethed down her nose, her heels clicked on the tiled floor of the hallway, making her taller than she actually was—she loved the feeling of power in her hands—she glared at those scared hazel eyes, "You're trying to take away what belongs to his. No _one_ dares to come in between Master Ciel and Mister Sebastian. No _one_ knows how deep their bond is but themselves. They love each other, and we females of the school know of it and we don't trample on it—but _you're ruining everything._"

Beatrice tried to breathe. Her hands were clenched at her skirt, she refused to budge under the glare of The Pucelle—as she was virtually known in school.

_I'm not a lowlife—I'm not a lowlife—I'm not a lowlife!_

Maylene's words went unheard as an all-too-familiar voice whispered in her mind.

_("Hello, gorgeous. Want to make some money?")_

Her body jerked and trembled as she stared at those brown depths.

"I'm not a lowlife! Git away from'me, y'pedophile!"

She pushed Maylene to the floor, her bottom came in contact—hard—to the tiles. She seethed as Beatrice ran away from her—those sharp brown eyes never left her retreating form.

A dainty hand dialled a number, and waited for someone to answer it.

_Ring._

"_Yes?"_

"She's coming over there, take your position."

"_Ah! Yes, madame!"_

Click.

Maylene rubbed her aching bottom and shuffled her pockets as she stood and sighed—wincing as she took out a shard of glass from her back pocket. She gritted her teeth.

"That girl made me sit on my glasses."

She puffed her cheeks as she stared at the white-washed wall—and pouted.

"And I'm not a pedophile! That's Miss Nina's job!" she screamed at the direction of Beatrice's retreat.

Oh, how she hated that girl.

* * *

"Well? Do you think she stopped her search already?"

"Hm. Nah. She's probably looking for us in the piano room or something."

A gasp, "You _think_ she's looking for us _in the piano_?"

"You're the one who said that, not me."

"Aw, Sebastian!"

"Don't throw that pillow at me!"

They spent their hours like this in the small room that Charles deemed as his Playing Room—Sebastian could never understand his brother's way of wording—playing video games (Sebastian always won) and playing chess (Ciel always won).

After two hours of playing, their enthusiasm of playing games ebbed away.

They plopped their lanky selves on the pillow-laden floor, listening softly to the soft hushes of their breathing and gently beating hearts. They were silent and content as the tips of their fingers brushed. Neither moved away.

Silence reigned in the room.

"Ciel?"

"Hm?"

"Can I kiss you again?"

He nodded.

Sebastian smiled as Ciel closed his eyes.

* * *

Beatrice ran away from the redhead. No, she had already locked away those hateful and hurtful words in her mind. Ever since she was taken in by Missus Guelph, she grew to hate the man that "nurtured" her and her brother and the world she lived in for the past ten years—that cruel, _cruel_ man...

She should find him—and take back what was rightfully her brother's.

She sprinted towards nowhere—and the voices whispered in her ear—always never leaving her alone.

"_Ha'you seen my brother's leg, sir? I jus' came from th'store t'get some oil for its hinges."_

"_No, I haven't seen any leg. Maybe you misplaced it?"_

"_I haven't, sir. I jus' put it on the table like I a'ways do."_

"_Maybe you threw it and you forgot it was his leg?"_

"_I'd do no such blunder, sir!"_

"_I see many blunders from filthy rags like you, and I say you threw it."_

"_I did no such thing!"_

"_I say you did it! You purposely threw away your brother's leg so you can convince me to give ya money, eh, rat?"_

"_I didn't—"_

"—_And after you've gotten your money, you'll get that leg from wherever place you hid that damn scrap of metal and run away with your brother, is that it?"_

"_No!"_

"_Oh ho! Talking back to your caretaker, eh? Is that how you'll treat me after I took you in after your useless mother threw you like garbage? You lowlife!"_

"No, no!"

She ran—not caring for the furious barks of Pluto close behind—she ran as fast as she could, until she bumped into a mop of curled blond hair.

"Ow!"

Beatrice turned to see who she ran into, and there, with the beginnings of a tear that was about to fall from one of her emerald eyes, was Elizabeth Middleford.

* * *

"I say, _why_ are you doing this to him?"

"And I say, why are _you_ doing this to him, hm? Don't you know that if they grow up like that, they'll commit sins to our society!"

William had retreated to his room for a moment after he heard enough debates in the dining hall—before whispering to the Phantomhive maid that he was sorry that he couldn't be with her for the time being. Angela also felt the urge to leave (and to tell him that she did not mind it at all), but she couldn't leave, knowing that something might happen again—she always trusts her intuition.

"I can't see how they'll commit sins! They're only children!"

"_I_ know what it's like! It's because of this degrading world that the minds of the youth are getting twisted!"

"I don't get you at all!"

Angela only sighed. She already hid the silverware and any type of object that can be used as a makeshift weapon. She could see Charles Grey becoming pale by the second. Her Master Vincent was already trying to calm down his wife; Mister Phipps tried to calm Victoria by giving her a glass of water—only, his concern was thrown back at his face as she pushed him away.

"Don't touch me, you _queer_."

"Grandmother!"

Charles stood up and went over to her fuming grandmother, his hand ready to slap her if necessary. No, he would have no more. No more of those scornful insults from his own family—he would have none of it. He had heard too much.

She can insult him all she wants.

But insulting Charles in front of him was going too far.

He felt—_knew—_it was her fault that he became like this. At the back of his mind—he blamed her for everything that had happened to him. He fell in love with a girl, as young as he was, and her grandmother sent her away because she thought she was a distraction for her grandson. He was at a loss.

And then there came Charles Phipps.

He was introduced to him—by his grandmother, no less—saying that he needed a friend and not a girlfriend.

That was when everything started.

During that time in the riverbank where they usually went to get some fish during summer—Charles Grey nearly died when he tripped on a slippery rock and fell into the waters.

He was saved by Charles Phipps.

From then on, his heart bloomed for the boy that was before his eyes.

He loved him still—until they blossomed into teenagers, he loved him still. They entered the training camp a few years back, and it was then that he had confessed his feelings to the taller man.

Everything was never the same again.

"Charles! Stop!"

Phipps took hold of Charles' right arn, forcefully taking him back to his side.

"No! Let me go! I've had enough! I won't let her insult us in front of me any longer!"

Rachel mentally cried for them.

_Oh._

"Can't you see it, Missus Rachel? _This,_" she then pointed to her struggling grandson and the barely-composed Phipps and turned her stare back to the sad-looking teacher, "is what will happen to your son and to that Michaelis if they continue on their so-called friendship. It will ruin their lives. It will ruin everything in their wake—just as it had ruined _mine._"

* * *

"Sebastian? Ciel?"

No one answered.

Charles opened the doorknob and went inside—with Rachel, Vincent and Phipps following close behind.

"Oh, Charles. Can we just let them be? They look so adorable."

Indeed, they looked adorable.

Sebastian, who was encased in Ciel's tight embrace, was blushing as he slept—his breath was against Ciel's fringe, making it dance softly with each puff of precious air. The smaller teen smiled as he slept, and was kissing Sebastian's forehead as they snoozed.

Charles Grey only smiled.

"If only she could understand..."

* * *

"_I love to see the ocean's beauty_

_And the moon that shines above._

_Alone in the sand looking at the stars_

_Wishing someday I would find true love."_

—Wherever You Are, Southborder


	17. Propono, Promise

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_"Oh, a failure, I am. I failed to protect Ciel from tears."_

**DISCLAIMER: **No.

**A/N:** Current stats: 18,239 hits, 106 faves, 110 alerts and 137 reviews. XD Thank you so much~ :3 I realized I'm having a hard time with "A Contract is Meant to be Broken"'s plot. OMG I'm so sorry. D: But, no worries. I won't post a hiatus note. That's for quitters. =w= (I think. D: ) Oh, and I'm taking "Taylor" as Joker's middle name, since it was mentioned in the manga that her mother was named Karen Taylor; and the "Gleeman" is... well... a pun for a funny man. :D (Although I do think it's also a surname. :O )

* * *

The lazy morning had come to London once again, waking up all the citizens of England. A pair of close friends shrugged away the peeking beams of the fiery sun with their lanky arms. Had not a certain butler in a certain house not come to the friends' predicament of almost kissing—accidentally, mind you—what might have happened? He could only smiled at the possible (and awkward) outcome. Oh, _joy._

He had announced his greetings and had tried to wake up the sleeping teens' forms. The two distinct lumps on the bed only shifted their sleeping positions and hugged each other in response to his efforts.

William closed his tired eyes.

Yesterday was nothing but a disaster, he mused. As soon as he finished fixing his recently-cleaned mirror and headed his way to the dining hall, William almost yelled—_almost—_at the oncoming whoosh of a wrinkled hand. Said hand should have landed on a certain white-haired maid if only a certain black-haired butler—namely, William Truffle Spears—had not interfered.

Green eyes were opened just a tad as he gazed at the window—glaring at the sun with his bespectacled gaze.

Since that day, the Phantomhive butler swore that Missus Victoria Guelph—the senior renegade of the House of the Grey-Guelph union, as he dubbed so in his mind—was now and will remain on the top spot of his mental hitlist, making Ronald, Sebastian and Grell drop a few places.

Wait.

No.

_How about removing Sebastian in the list altogether?_

He pursed his lips.

Yes. Yes, that would be good.

Angela claimed that Missus Guelph, in retaliation to Charles' previous (and attempted) attack, got very angry at her grandson and tried to strike him and Master Phipps with her gold-plated clutch.

And she, being the angel that she is, took the pain. Or rather, she _tried_ to take the pain.

Her adrenaline rush from running to the other end of the table and to defend the other guests ebbed away as soon as she looked at the person in front of her—which she believed was Guelph the whole time.

It was William.

The butler sighed as he recalled yesterday's events. Yes, he felt no regret after saving Angela from a possible bruise on her flawless face—in fact, he felt... relieved.

Ah, no time to dawdle on trivial things. Personal matters can wait later.

He looked at the still breathing lumps beneath the silken blankets. A small tug on his lips was evident on his face as he heard Ciel mutter a certain teenager's name, but he would never admit it, oh no. Last night—once the guests were gone except for the Double Charles (Missus Guelph had left very early after the incident regarding her and William, stating that she will not give up; Beatrice looked tired when she left with her, Maylene must have done something again)—his master and mistress and Master Grey went to Charles' abode to tell them that everything was alright for the time being.

Sebastian had been adamant that he would not leave Ciel, fearing that a day might come that he will never see the boy again.

Hence, when the time of sleep came, Sebastian slept on Ciel's bed once again, hugging him tight with a smile on his lips.

_Ah, young love._

Well, no time to waste. His thoughts had led him way past the schedule. With a cough, he tapped the shoulders of the teens, once again.

"Young masters..."

* * *

They came to school in their usual jolly selves—the smaller one jovially laughing and the other one silently smiling. Ciel had never let go of Sebastian's arm as soon as they had left their homes. Last night was stressful for both of them, that much they knew. He had even gotten the faux tiger fur coat wrinkled in his hold while he was in Sebastian's room (the coat was now void of wrinkles, thanks to William, who hung the coat in the teen's wardrobe)—Sebastian had insisted that he should take a coat that he really likes, so every time when he's alone, he'll be reminded of him through the softness of the faux fur. Ciel smiled.

Ah, yes. Nothing can go wrong today. He had drilled so in his mind as they walked inside their classroom for their first class. It seemed like they were the only ones.

Sebastian had kissed him then, on the forehead, on the nose and on the cheek—chaste and soft and sweet—muttering whispers of the days that storms will come to their little nest to disturb their peace. How poetic of him to think of their relationship like a pair of lovebirds fluttering in the wind—but that's one of the things he loved about the raven.

The school bell had rung, indicating that classes will soon begin.

* * *

Whispers and jokes were heard in the cafeteria of the school—the boisterous guffaws and the hearty and friendly slaps of friends and classmates alike—and Ciel smiled to himself. Ah, yes. His father built this school for the rich and poor to be on equal ground. He was happy of his father's work.

"Ciel! Sebastian! Over here!"

Ah, yes. Friends. With them, life can be worthwhile.

They sat down together side by side, with Sebastian on his right and Grell on his left. They talked about the recent incident in the Phantomhive house—_Well? How was it? Did our plan work? Where were you two when we've been interrogating her?—_things like that. Ciel only hummed and answered when needed, not wanting to delve into things further. Sebastian was the same, smiling politely at the unnecessary questions thrown at their way. The subject was spoken in a hushed manner, not wanting to attract unwanted attention—it was already bothersome enough as it is.

They ate their lunch in silence, broken from time to time by Nina and Elizabeth's chatter and Grell's rant—something about fixing his mascara and nails—Ciel ate his lunch in a much needed peace, Sebastian's hand was on his own beneath the table as he watched Bard and Finnian fight over some fish and chips.

Grell was eating a plate of truffles—in a very lady-like fashion, of course, (_"Pinky up!"_)—when it happened.

His beautiful emerald eyes landed on a very unlikely pair; his eyebrow raised at the odd couple coming through the throngs of students with strained smiles on their faces. Well, even the students noticed that something was not right.

For it was not everyday that Jester Taylor Gleeman—known as The Joker throughout the academy—would put painstaking effort to talk to a girl just to get her attention, especially if the aforementioned girl was none other than the "Prowling Beast" herself (the poor thing still cringed at that title), Beatrice Femora Lorum.

Grell almost dropped his truffle.

Ciel—who was finished eating his cream puffs, all the while being chided by Sebastian for being a messy eater (_"You have a piece of the puff on your cheek. No, don't wipe it, I'll get it."_)—noticed the sudden shocked look on Grell's face. The man was not easy to get shocked, hence when he saw that the chocolate coating of the truffle in the redhead's fingers started melting, he grew aware of his situation.

"...Grell? Are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh, oh, yes. I'm quite... peachy."

"...Peachy? What's that?"

"Don't listen to him, Ciel."

"Okay."

The teen took a sip of his chamomile tea, feeling quite refreshed as he sighed. He looked at his left with a small smile on his face as he relished the aftertaste of the warm beverage.

His eyebrows rose at the sight of a certain pair—finally realizing the reason why Grell suddenly stiffened like a statue.

"Sebastian?"

"Yes?"

"Look there."

Sebastian looked at where Ciel was pointing, to his left—his was mouth filled with Ceasar salad and he simultaneously chewed and licked his lips clean of the mess he made with his teeth and lips—and there, was what everyone in the hall looked on and gossiped about. Word has it that The Joker himself was pursuing The Prowling Beast, but he never believed them as facts, until now.

He calmly looked at them with his scarlet and sapphire eyes, eating another forkful of the salad as he whispered something to Ciel, which Grell noticed—_Someone's up to no good,_ he said—and Grell couldn't agree more. Sebastian swallowed the vegetables and gulped down his glass of water (he refused to eat anything with too much fat) and tapped Ciel's shoulder, urging him not to look at the scene further. The teen nodded.

It was then that Elizabeth—who was sitting in front of her cousin—noticed that something was amiss with how Beatrice acted around Jester, like she was only forcing herself to smile.

She only shrugged as she finished her meal and drank her glass of strawberry juice, her glassy evergreen eyes never leaving the odd pair.

Just then, she felt someone's presence on her left.

"I knew it. Something's strange with all of this chumminess in the air, I can practically _smell_ _it_."

They all turned to the sound of the feminine voice.

"Miss Nina!"

Her scowl at the smiling Beatrice turned into a sweet smile of her own as she beamed at her lowerclassmen.

"Why, hello there!"

She immediately took a seat at the head of the table and leered at the occupants of the seats, glancing at Beatrice's back from time to time.

"Well, what happened? Did something happen when I was in class?" She then turned at Sebastian who was wiping his mouth clean of all the crumbs and bits of vegetables. He licked his teeth behind a napkin. "I thought she was going all lovesick over you!" she exclaimed as she looked at Beatrice's perm.

"Well, seeing as she seems to have her eyes on someone, less stress for me. Right, Ciel?" he looked at his left, and surely, Ciel was looking—scrutinizing, actually—at Beatrice and Jester. The Raven raised his brows. "Ciel?"

"...Something's strange."

Upon hearing the words, Nina slapped her hands on the table, looking triumphant and sneered at Sebastian, "See? I told you something's wrong! You wouldn't listen! Now, tell them, Ciel. What is this "something strange" thing going on?"

The midnight-blue haired teen cocked his head to the left, and then to the right, humming as he tapped his lips with his index finger. All eyes and ears were on Ciel's face, waiting for him to say something, and then, "What's the news on Lorum?" Nina and Grell scoffed.

Ash, who had just finished his plate of fettucini alfredo, spoke up in his detached and unfazed manner, "Word has it that she is, how shall we say this, _distraught,_ after the execution of Maylene's plan. I heard that she was banned from speaking with Missus Guelph. And we all know why."

"Hmph. Serves her right. She made me fall on my glasses! And now I need to stand far away just to set my sights right on things! And no thanks to her, I have to sit at the back of the class!"

"Now, now, Maylene. We'll think of a way to get you back on your original seat. I'll ask Jeeves later on for the best eyeglass shop suited for your tastes. But first, what motive does she have now?" Nina pointed at Beatrice's back, "Usually, at this hour, she would be clamoring just for a scrap of Stiffy-Face's attention!"

"That "Stiffy-Face" better not be me."

"But it is you, you know."

"Shut up, Grell."

Ciel sighed as he picked up his empty glass, bored as he leant his elbow on the table with a silent huff. "Say, how do you know these things, Ash?"

"I have my sources."

A sigh. "Ah. Well, then. I rest my case."

"Thank you."

They returned to talking amongst themselves and delved the subject away from Lorum and Gleeman, until Nina oh so (not) graciously walked over to where the buxom girl and the laughing teen sat—and promptly dropped the nearby ham and cheese sandwich over The Joker's head.

The students all turned. And silence reigned in the room. It was broken by Grell's cry of, _"You go, girl!"_ from a distance.

"Wha—"

"We need to _talk,_ Joker."

Ciel and Sebastian could only look at each other in worry while Grell took out his camera.

Oh, the troubles they will cause.

* * *

"Well then, we're alone now. Now what? And promise me you'll help me clean up the mess you made on my hair!"

They were in the hallway now—silent as the wind—Nina had dragged the redhead away from the prying ears of the student body. She glared at the 14-year-old, "Well? What's your plan, O Signore Joker? And don't look at me with those eyes of yours. It has no effect on me whatsoever."

"Will you fix my hair after I've answered your questions truthfully?"

"I'll never know if you'll answer me truthfully, but I have my _methods._ And yes, if you answer them with no lies, I'll fix your hair. Now, spill it. Why are you hanging around that vixen?"

"Slow down, miss. Isn't that too much of a word for you to use? Vixen, really?" Purple eyes asked and looked into the boring eyes of Nina, and seeing no answer from her, he scratched his pierced left ear and looked away—his habit.

"I thought you clamored for those rumors, hm?" the older girl asked, smirking at the quivering fear that poured out of the male's pores. She tapped her foot, her shoes clicking on the tiled floor, like Jester's beating heart.

The Joker whispered to himself.

"What was that?" the 15-year-old asked as she cocked an eyebrow, clearly, what she barely heard was not what she thought now, was it?

The flame-orange haired male gritted his teeth as he stared at Nina's sharp eyes, unmindful of the sunbeams hitting the glass windows and thus reflecting said beams on his squinting orbs, "Sebastian's in trouble. He's in big, _big_ trouble."

This was definitely _not_ what she wanted to hear.

Her grip on her pocket tightened, feeling for the buttons of her phone; on instinct, she dialled a lone number, and pressed the key for loudspeaker.

"What do you mean?"

* * *

"...So, as you can see. A certain someone is looking for you, Sebastian. A certain someone and with another certain someone. That's why I called you two. And I can see a storm will brew above your pretty heads, my dear students; a storm as destructive as a bomb. I can see dark clouds thundering over your snow-kissed flesh—choking and suffocating and taking away your precious lives like the roaring Bengal tiger—"

"...Well. Who are these, _certain someones_? If I may ask, Principal."

"Eh? I wouldn't know. They didn't say their names. Now, why are you two here again?"

A scoff. Unbelievable!

Lau Wuneng—a Chinese native with the characters, "no talent" as his surname (he refuses to acknowledge his surname and wants to be called by simply, "Mister Lau")—the principal of the secondary school and college buildings, sat on his brown chair in his mighty and carefree glory as he calmly smiled and—ah—there she was, the silent beauty of Mister Lau's squinting eyes, Lan Mao Mi. An observant and silent maiden, just like her surname suggests—she sat on the armrest of Mister Lau's favorite brown chair, her dainty arms wrapped around the Chinese man's neck.

A wistful sigh was heard in the silent office of the principal, he could never understand the relationship of these two Chinese individuals. Mister Lau always said that she was his sweet little sister, but really, no sister would act like _that_ towards her brother... right? And she stares at the students way too long—like a curious cat—though, he had to admit, the black-haired teen liked her wide, round eyes. It reminded him of Ciel's round and innocent eyes!

"Mister Lau, we don't have time for your clueless game time, who are these people that you are talking about?" It was Sebastian who stood before the man, his foot lightly tapping on the floor as he crossed his arms—impatient as always when it comes to certain things—he told Ciel the conversation will only last for five minutes! It was taking too long! The face of the clock clearly said it's already late, just five minutes and ten seconds left before the next class starts.

Lau tilted his head and closed his eyes as he frowned—Ciel wouldn't know if he was really thinking or not, the man was hard to read—and with a smile, he opened his dark brown eyes.

"A woman said that someone will be waiting for you at the school gates. I wouldn't know who that someone is. Although, maybe I have a hunch, but I still don't know who—"

"Alright, Mister Lau. Here's your supply of charms."

"Oh! The future little earl has brought me my favorite charms! Look, Lan Mao! Isn't this great! You now have new toys to play with!"

Lan Mao only stared at the several charms in the form of different colored cats, poking a white cat-shaped charm twice before sniffing it and putting it on her head.

Lau smiled at her.

"Ah. She's happy."

Ciel tilted his head as he held Sebastian's hand, "You can tell?"

"Of course!"

Sebastian looked at the goofy face of their principal. He would never understand why Ciel's father chose this man to become the principal of the school. Mister Phipps would be a better principal than the man before him, he mused. And Ciel giving this man trinkets and charms in exchange for information needed was too much of a mystery for him.

They nodded and uttered their words of, "See you tomorrow, principal," and right before they could leave the stuffy room—Ciel swore that the room smelt very sweet—they heard the quiet yet mischievous voice of Lau.

"If the tigers came, who will be there to save both of you and your young lives?"

The teenagers looked at each other, curious about the poetic and quizzical words of the man, and before they could ask what he meant, he waved them off.

And the door was closed.

Lau smiled as he looked at the door the students came out of, lightly patting Lan Mao's soft hand.

"Things might turn out interesting."

Lan Mao only sniffed another lucky charm and blankly nodded at Lau.

* * *

It was that time of the day—the part of the day wherein you can just go home, relax and do your homework at the last minute before school starts.

Not that Ciel and Sebastian will do that; cramming is not their forte.

Ronald was waiting at the gates with the limousine ready—and Charles was not with him. Odd. Usually, the man would be with him laughing at jokes while waiting for them to arrive. He would never miss going home with his precious little brother.

Until now.

"Ronnie? Where's Mister Charles?" Ciel asked as soon as they saw him. Sebastian was looking left and right for any sign of his brother—a flash of long white locks, that distinct laugh, the smell of cakes on his clothes, anything!

Ronald, who was biting his lip—chapped lips really hurt—looked at his little master and patted his head. Sebastian looked at the lingering hand on Ciel's hair.

"I wouldn't know, young master. But he's running a _teeny_ bit late. That's a first." He pouted as he sucked on a cherry-flavored lolly he bought from a pretty young lady down the road.

The teal-haired boy looked around, his lone blue eye searching for a familiar mop of white locks.

When no sign of the professor was seen, Ciel bid Ronald a quick, "We'll be right back" and dragged Sebastian with him. Something was not right. Mister Charles would never make them wait even for a minute.

They rounded the corners of the dean's office—where he oftentimes hang out to get some cool air—no one was there. They tried again.

His sights landed on the corner of the arts building as they passed by the cafeteria, and there, with Beatrice Lorum hiding from the eyes and ears of the departing students, frowning and wincing at the harsh words thrown at her—was Victoria Guelph—looking angry and frustrated towards the 14-year-old girl—as he and Sebastian was used to seeing. No. That was nothing new.

What disturbed them the most was the man with her.

Tall and pale and black and with a statuesque stance—much like a certain someone whom Ciel knew since birth—it bothered Ciel to no end, the identity of this man, that is. His back was facing them, they couldn't see his face.

"Well? Did you tell him?"

It was the voice of that wretched and wrinkled woman, Sebastian thought so with a glare. His eyes turned to Ciel, who was hiding behind him—clutching fiercely onto his arm and on the sleeves of his shirt. Oh, it reminded him of their kindergarten days—the times that they would go to the faculty office to wait for their guardians. He remembered how those small hands would wound and curl and wrinkle his poor clothes from the (unthinkable) strength of his bitty hands.

He would protect his pretty and precious bride. He had promised so to himself years ago. He'd never go back on a promise—it was cowardly—as his dear brother had said to him once.

Ah. Speaking of his dear brother...

He was there with Beatrice all along—and for once, Mister Phipps was not with him. Very odd. He was speaking to his grandmother (he refused to acknowledge her as his own grandmother) in a hushed and calm tone—very much unlike from what he heard yesterday from William and Missus Rachel.

It was very odd. Very odd, indeed.

He took a step back as soon as he saw Beatrice's copper eyes landed on his red-blue ones. He shielded Ciel behind, ready to fight if necessary should she tattle on the elderly woman—or worse, he would have to take out his trusty pocket knife in case the woman (and probably that unmoving statue of a man over there) would harm Ciel in any way.

He waited for the signal—for that petty girl to poke that woman's arm and to point at their direction, for her to yell out and to give away their hiding place.

She only bowed her head.

He whispered with his deep and dulcet tones, enough for only Ciel to hear.

They fled from the building.

And Sebastian could swear that he heard Charles sigh—whether from relief that they were safely away, or from tiredness—he could never tell.

Charles Grey would have to apologize to Phipps and Ronald—and especially to those fleeing angels—later on.

* * *

Ciel was perturbed. His hands were clammy as he held the note that Sebastian gave to him through William this six o'clock. It was now eight forty-five, and the skies were starting to darken—the first star of the night didn't help his worsening mood.

He paced in front of his bed, to and fro, to and fro, until he paused and looked at the clock on his nightstand, then towards the veranda. A blow of the wind startled his thoughts, and as soon as he closed the windows, he started to pace once again.

He said that he would be knocking at the mansion doors this seven o'clock to teach him how to make the spiciest curry—he was proud of his curry, he was taught by his brother, after all.

The seconds ticked by, and no ringing of the door bell was heard, nor the familiar sound of clopping shoes in front of his bedroom door. The seconds ticked to minutes, and to hours. And when he couldn't take the anxiety anymore—he didn't even reply once to his messages and calls!—he stormed off his room to go to Sebastian's house only to be stopped by the hand of a solemn-faced William—_"Now, now, young master, please stop frowning. It's very unbecoming of you"_. He was about to give him his plate of blueberry muffins, as he requested earlier. The servings were enough for him and Sebastian.

The butler ushered him back to his room, unfazed from the boy's protests.

Once the servant had managed to calm down his master's son, he set down the plate of muffins and a pitcher of aloe vera juice along with two glasses on the bedside table, for him and the pale-skinned teen—the little Phantomhive had taken a liking to its taste recently, and the master was too happy to oblige and buy him a supply of this specific flavor of juice. It seemed that he was slowly opening up to eating and drinking healthy food. William was glad for his young lord's choice of foods, for once.

The little teen took a muffin and bit it, chewing and letting the flavors sink to his sensitive taste buds. Once satisfied, he swallowed it. It was delicious. As expected of the Phantomhive butler.

The future earl was smiling now—from the taste of the confection, William assumed—and he took it as a chance to give him the letter he received a few hours ago prior his baking.

So he gave it to Ciel.

And so here he was now. Sulking. Stomping as he paced, and _no,_ that was not a tear that stained his cheek.

The letter. Yes. He blamed it all on that piece of parchment. And maybe he blamed the writer of it, too—or maybe he even blamed himself.

He looked at the clock once again. It was now ten past nine in the evening. He had skipped his dinner he planned with Sebastian and Mister Charles. He wondered if his mum and dad were worried. Oh, questions, questions!

He read the letter once again—it felt heavy in his tiny hands—maybe it was because of the slowly forming lines of sweat in between his skin pores—or maybe because of his nervousness of something that was yet to come.

_Ciel,_ it said. He tried hard not to blink as he read on. _If the clock strikes seven, and I am still not there, expect me to be gone._ He sniffled. No. _Missus Guelph forced me and my brother to leave for Lancaster tonight. It seemed that what we saw earlier was a plan to coax me into leaving you. _Ciel rubbed at his tears furiously—choked sobs were being heard from the cold and silent walls. _I'm bringing Tabitha with me, and also Ciel the kitty cat, to remember you by._ He smiled, and envied the stuffed cat that Sebastian bought years ago, wishing that it was him that he's bringing to that faraway place. _I tried to reply to you earlier, but she took away my things before I could get them back. I apologize. I only snatched this paper from my wallet and a spare pen that I found in one of my pockets. I hope the letter can get to you in time. I told Mister Phipps to give this to William, since I trust him that he can do the job._

It was then that Ciel bawled and fell to the carpeted floor.

_Please don't cry. I'll go back to you and make you my bride just as I promised you,_ the last line read. He laughed. Ah, yes. His bride. How could he forget that? And yet...

"It's impossible not to cry, Sebastian," he closed his eyes as he felt his heart tightening against his ribcage—oh, the pain and hurt she had caused for us!

"I love you too much."

* * *

Sebastian stayed silent throughout the whole ride. It would take four hours to get to this new "home"—or _hellhole _would be appropriate, thank you very much—in Lancaster. They were now near Cumberland Gate—wherever that is—he couldn't care less. He was never away from London ever since he started to have memories. Being tugged away suddenly by this woman made everything worse for Sebastian.

He wanted to go back now. Back to where Ciel would be waiting and probably crying his poor heart out. (_Scratch that. He's crying and I know it._) Oh, what sort of face could he make when Mister Vincent finds out? He promised him he'll protect him! And this is how he'll protect him? And what about Missus Rachel? Oh, he could only imagine the pain when she hears the news. William would be—well, he can never read the man's emotions—he could never tell what he'll think of him when he finds out. The other servants would be sad too, he's sure of it.

_Oh, a failure, I am. I failed to protect Ciel from tears._

He tried hard not to let a bit of that pesky tear to run down his pale cheek—it would be painful for him to stop crying should a tear fall from his eye.

He felt a hand on his arm, and he felt the urge to slap it away—_Manners be damned!—_but refrained from doing so. That cruel pair of eyes in front of him was starting to get to his nerves. He knew the owner of that hand. It was from Beatrice.

He slapped away the hand as soon as it touched him again, not caring for the slight change of irritation from those scornful saffron eyes. He refused to look at any person in this suffocating limousine. The Phantomhive limousine was better—he could even sleep there where he felt so much at peace, knowing that the people inside were kind and will never harm him in any way. Not to mention, there were also (rare) times where he can even talk to _William_! Ah, yes. He loved the people who resided in the Phantomhive house. He loved them all.

But in this vehicle...

"Sebastian?"

He despised them—his brother and Mister Phipps excluded.

He remained silent—his eyes continued to roam the streets unfamiliar to his mind through the rain-showered window—they passed by a mother with a child in tow. He smiled to himself.

The hand hovering near his arm retreated, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Beatrice frown and she herself looked at her side of the window to the left. Sebastian felt no remorse for the girl. And besides, she could never see anything on her side, his brother was on the left side of the window—sulking and withering just as he was.

The man had yelled at his grandmother hours before packing and leaving, and this time, she was not forgiving. She had taken hold of that sole picture in his dresser—the picture of Charles' first love, who shall not be named—and burnt it.

He had succumbed to his grandmother after that—obeying her wishes and commands here and there with a passive face—making sure that she will not harm his little brother in the process.

Sebastian frowned.

He pitied their situation. He pitied his brother and his broken heart. He pitied Mister Phipps—who was driving the car, by the way—for he cannot act on his own.

Tomorrow will be a new start—for something that he could never predict—and he longed for Time's hand to retract its seconds. He missed Ciel already. He cannot go back to the Academy, he supposed.

_I guess this is what Mister Lau talked about._

They were now near Hyde Park. Seeing the flowers on the damp grass reminded Sebastian of those flower wreaths that he made for Ciel years ago. He still made them from time to time—just to make Ciel happy. He smiled as a lone tear fell from his crimson eye.

A thin eyebrow was raised.

Sebastian paid no mind to his surroundings as his eyelids slowly closed in on themselves—dreaming of holding Ciel in his arms as he was used to. He had cried to himself as he slept. _Oh, Ciel._

A pale pair of lips frowned as his eyes looked from the pale teen to the melancholic professor. The mood was too gloomy, he thought.

He smiled.

_They look interesting._

* * *

"_Why does the karma of simply living,_

_Bring more pain than it does joy?_

_I always dream of quiet music,_

_So that I can reach across the distance_

_To where it sleeps together with you."_

—Red Moon, Kalafina

* * *

Heck, yes. It's done. XD I really hope I'll have some plot bunnies for Contract now. The next chapter's collecting dust! D:


	18. Digressio, Separation

**Exsequor**

**DISCLAIMER:**No.

**A/N:**Only one person got the identity of the man in the last chapter correctly! XDDD Joshua Anne, you got it right. :3

* * *

No one was sleeping tonight in the house of Phantomhive—everyone was restless as it was a few hours ago.

The phone endlessly rang throughout the quarters every ten minutes—the news spread throughout the student body of the Academy far quicker than they thought. But the identity of the person who leaked the news—they will never identify.

It was—and probably will never be—not Ciel. The boy had cooped up in his room, locked, uncaring for the sounds of the pleas of his mother and father. He spent his night lying on his cold and silky bed, alone with only the fur coat that he got from Sebastian—and the stuffed toy that they bought from Disneyland years ago. They reminded them of him. Of that person that he yearned for to be with him tonight just as always.

The aloe vera juice and the blueberry muffins were left cold on the dresser—it would be tasteless, the boy mused—Sebastian was not with him and him eating it alone would only end in futile, seeing as he only eats to his heart's content whenever the raven-haired teen was around.

Ah, reality. How cruel you are.

Outside the melancholic teen's room, the people were at a loss. The Lord and Lady of the house were—first and foremost—shocked upon hearing the news from William. Vincent had almost scolded the man (once again) until Rachel calmed him down. The butler only bowed his head in submission.

After the incident with Missus Guelph—the woman's name was practically banned from being uttered in the house, for obvious reasons—Vincent had called William and Angela to his office, commenting about their behaviour towards the guest. Even though their intentions were good, they were still servants—they were to act like shadows behind their masters—at least, that's what Vincent has been taught. He wasn't mad at them; on the contrary, he was proud of them that they did what they thought was for the best.

Victoria was the only one who yelled at his servants and forced him to fire them. Vincent's patience almost snapped.

So he chose the lightest "punishment" (he really didn't want to do such a thing) possible.

Their pay for this month was—unfortunately—lowered by five percent. Angela couldn't blame her employer for an act. It was a disgrace for a servant to act on her own accord, especially if that "own accord" was something that would bring shame upon his or her master.

William merely bowed, a short, "I accept," was his reply. He felt at ease—at least he was not kicked out of the house. He was glad for that. If he were to be fired, where would he go? Certainly not to his brother, of course. That would be utterly degrading—for him, that is.

The butler sighed as he recalled those events. He'd have to take his medications tonight to relieve him of the day's stress.

Outside the mansion, the night was a dark blue with streaks of grey and white—lightning flashed after a few minutes, and the servant could only frown.

"I hope the Double Charles and Master Sebastian are alright."

* * *

He tossed and turned on the bed, not feeling quite at home (or at ease) as he looked at the dull white ceiling of his new room. He preferred Ciel's room better. It was warm and welcoming—and elegant, too, it must be because of the chandelier, he mused—just like the rest of the house. Oh, what he wouldn't give just to go back to London to see Ciel again!

Ah, but it was not the case. He was cooped up in a place that he would barely call his home—and it felt cold, this house, that is.

He wondered what his little bride was doing now. Would he still be crying as he had predicted? Or maybe he cried himself to sleep? It was possible. There were times that Ciel would get very scared of thunder so much that not even Sebastian could soothe him. At those times, sleep was his sanctuary. Would it be like those times, he pondered—and Sebastian almost punched the wall in agony. Not being able to protect Ciel of what he's scared of drove the raven mad to no end. What was the use of the promise he made to the Phantomhives—and to himself—if he couldn't even... Oh, bother. It was useless as long as he was in this dungeon of a place.

He only hoped that he was alright despite all of this.

_Oh, Ciel._

* * *

"Would you like some mayonnaise with that?"

"Uh. No, thank you."

He made his way down the aisle and went straight to his friends—avoiding all eye contact with anyone as he sat. His eyes were in a permanent puffed state these days. It had always been that way since...

He couldn't even think about that person without crying.

"Ciel? You're not eating your salad... Again."

"Be quiet, Grell! He must be thinking about something important!"

"Like Sebastian."

And a manicured hand was slapped over the redhead's mouth.

At the mention of the name, Ciel couldn't contain himself. He sniffled.

Bard slapped Grell at the back of his head, "Now you've done it, you nitwit!"

They bickered as the teen sniffled and rubbed his nose on his handkerchief, suddenly losing the appetite of eating the salad—it reminded him too much of Sebastian; of how he would refuse to eat anything with too much fat because he won't look good if he gained weight (he mentioned something about being fat won't be a suitable option for him to be Ciel's husband). Thinking about his words made him laugh. It was sheer nonsense to his mind. Then again, who was he to judge?

He giggled once again behind his napkin, and this time, Maylene noticed the jerking movement of the boy. Ever since she heard of the news that The Raven would (reluctantly) leave (thanks to Nina and her cell phone's loud speaker feature)—it had already been a week since the awful news!—she had kept a close eye on Ciel. The poor boy had almost starved himself to death and if it weren't for William's words (_"Master Sebastian told you that he will come back. I believe that he would like to come back to the young master being alive and well, not sickly and starving himself to the grave."_), she doubted if he would even snap out of the depressed trance that haunted his currently pale and hollowed face. She didn't actually thought that Guelph—she refuse to call her a missus—would stay true to her word. She scolded herself mentally. If only she had told Ciel and Sebastian earlier, then this would never have happened. Ah, regrets!

She smiled as Ciel finally took his first forkful of the lettuce and tomatoes in his dried mouth (all the while ignoring the noise that was Bard and Grell yelling over the last slice of pizza). It took him a full five minutes and forty seconds, too (yes, she counted).

_Mister Sebastian. If only you knew how much he's missing you right now._

* * *

"Your grace. It's time to wake up."

The person on the bed didn't move.

"Your grace," he called again, and this time, he patted the lump on the bed. It was rather soft—too soft—for a person.

Something was not right.

Trusting his instincts, he pulled the blankets away from the unmoving lump of fluffy softness.

On the bed was not a person. In fact, it was a different thing entirely.

It was a feather pillow.

"Not again."

* * *

He tiptoed around the mansion—quietly minding any incoming intruders that were surely to become some sort of hindrance to him once again. He looked behind him, no one was there. So far, so good.

He took out the bottle of oil lubricant that he snatched from one of the drawers in his closet earlier (thankful for the stupidity of the servant he met a week ago) and oiled the door's hinges. He opened it and stepped inside the room and turned on the lights. He blinked at the furniture sitting inside this particular room.

It took him five seconds to realize he was a man on a mission—and that was to retrieve his cell phone and iPhone (along with their chargers) in order to communicate with his beloved Ciel—his red and blue eyes scanned the room. Charles had secretly told him that his grandmother hid his gadgets somewhere around the house (and that she didn't throw them away like he thought she would) and that he didn't know where it was hidden. He was never familiar with the house's layout, it seemed.

He looked at his left, noting the numerous amounts of books stacked on the spacious—and probably old—shelf.

He tiptoed again, as though something might come out of nowhere. He took a step and flinched as the floorboard creaked. That was not a good sign. He hurried over to the desk and pulled at the drawers two by two. And there, at the bottom of the desk, was what he had been looking for for the past few days.

He grabbed his things and put them inside the back pockets of his jeans, patting them down to make it look flat on his back. Putting the chargers in his sweater was an easy task—just loop the cords and tie them and stuff it in his hidden pockets and voila! It was as though he put on several layers of clothing. He felt chubby. Nevertheless, he needed to return to his room. He sighed.

He opened the door just a tad to take a peek outside. Seeing no signs of life outside, he took a cautious step. Sebastian had always been told by his brother that he had cat-like reflexes, he had to make use of those reflexes now.

He could hear the blood pumping in his pale ears, his senses high on alert as he closed the door with no hint of a sound. He suddenly felt as though he was in one of the Harry Potter games wherein he would sneak around the Hogwarts grounds at night wearing that invisibility cloak. He could use one at this moment.

Ah, there he was now. That stuck-up excuse for a statue. He was lounging by the door looking like one of those tin soldiers he had on his shelf back home (this was definitely _not_ home, he mused), it would be risky if he were to come out in the open now.

So he waited until that man would flex his muscles and leave. Except that he did not flex a muscle and leave—instead, his brother's grandmother emerged from inside his room. He felt his feet run cold.

And he took it as a cue to appear from where he had been hiding.

"Oh. Good morning," he said nonchalantly (no need for manners in front of this woman), trying to keep himself composed despite his shaking knees. No. He refused to succumb to his fears. He swore to be Ciel's knight and he would be proud of him.

"Good day, Sebastian. Where were you before he came in?" was her greeting. There was no need for manners in front of the teen either, it seemed. As straightforward as always. He hated her guts.

"I got lost on my way to the bathroom," he smiled. It was not actually a lie. The office he went to was near the restroom. He had checked, of course.

"Oh," was what she simply said. She shrugged and told him about getting familiar with the house's layout as soon as possible so it won't happen again. She then left before nodding to her butler. He was left with this cobblestone of a man by the door.

He turned to the man—who was a bit taller than him by a few inches, nothing to be threatened of—and smiled as he tilted his head, "I suppose you'll let me in now?" he asked.

The silent being hummed and the fingers on his sides twitched, "I've taken the liberty to move your breakfast to the dining hall for your convenience, your grace," he said, voice void of emotion as he spoke.

Sebastian's eyebrows raised, "I see no convenience if I were to go down to the dining hall to eat when you had already brought the food here in the first place." And he huffed as he marched to the location of the nearest flight of stairs, ignoring the man's words of, "Forgive me, your grace." There was something about the man, and it irked him that he couldn't put a finger on the reason _why._ He could hear those hollow footsteps following him.

"I can get there on my own now, thank you," he mumbled without looking back. He refused to look at those empty, sand-colored eyes.

"You might get lost again. I'll lead you there," and he quickened his pace and took the lead, making Sebastian falter in his steps. He puffed his chest and spoke his mind.

"What's your problem?" his scarlet eye twitched in annoyance as he stomped—very much looking like a child throwing a tantrum at the moment.

The statuesque man halted in his tracks and lightly turned his head, piercing saffron eyes pricking into his hollow blue eye.

"I'm sparing you, your grace. You disobeyed Her Highness' orders once again. Those pillows you left beneath your blankets was proof enough that you snuck out again."

And with that, he left.

_Something's definitely not right about him._

* * *

Sebastian took a seat (minding his cell phone and iPhone on his back pockets as he shifted and moved away from the other end of the chair) and took a deep breath. Everything in this house was cold. Even the food looked cold.

He began to eat bits of the steak in front of him—and immediately swallowed and washed the taste of it with nice, cold water. He would rather eat William's cooking than this (that man cooked like a god). His brother's cooking skills were superb, too.

Speaking of which...

He turned to the standing and forlorn-looking maid beside him. Even the servants of this house looked distant, much like their employer. Maybe it's in the rule of the house? "Where is my brother?" he asked. Surely she will act and speak and not be like a lifeless doll, right?

The maid—all tanned and white-locked like his brother and had the saddest-looking eyes—moistened her lipstick-painted lips and fluttered her eyelids closed. It looked like she was thinking about something so he repeated his question again.

"Do you know where my brother is, miss?" he quipped as he turned fully towards the melancholic maid. And this time, she turned her eyes towards the quizzical teen. She didn't move an inch from where she was standing, though.

"I'm afraid I don't know who is it that you are talking about, your grace." Her eyes looked distant and empty as she looked not at the teen, but on the carpet beneath her shoes. Her hands quivered on her lap as Sebastian stared at her. What was it with this household calling him such titles?

"The one who came with me last week. The one with white hair like yours and smells like freshly-baked cakes and eats constantly." He paused and smacked his lips closed in deep thought. That was _not_ a good way to describe him.

And out of the blue, his lone cerulean eye caught a twitch of the lips from the tanned maid. And there was a bit of a giggle, too.

"I know someone who is like that, your grace, but I don't think that it's the same person. I've only been working here for a few days. Four days, to be precise. And during that short amount of time, I've never encountered anyone in the house like that." And there it was again, that sad-looking smile. _Is she always like this?_

An awkward "oh" was what he said, and he returned to eat his barely touched meal. He poked the steak and ate the mashed potatoes on the side instead. Seeing it reminded him of his dear Ciel. He smiled a bit.

"Hannah. Her Highness wants to see you."

The maid jumped at the voice—so did Sebastian (_So her name's Hannah..._)—and she promptly excused her quivering frame away from the barely eating teen. The student looked away as soon as the bespectacled man gazed at him. He stiffened as he almost hovered near his neck.

"Enjoying your meal, I presume?"

Sebastian almost threw the plate of steak on his face.

And the smirk on the taller man was enough to make Sebastian do the deed of throwing the plate of steak on the man's face.

Ah, sweet victory.

* * *

The butler never had the chance to comment, for Sebastian was already stomping his way back to his room.

"Interesting."

* * *

Charles yawned as he walked down the hallways of the Guelph manor. He had been told by his grandmother not to communicate with the child—Ciel, most likely—and he did not have the heart to do just that. So he avoided Ciel, and when there comes a chance that their paths would cross in the school grounds, he greeted him in his usual cheerful manner. He was rewarded with a frown from the cherub's friends and pushed Ciel away from him. It had always been that way. The teen clearly wanted to talk to him but he just can't.

He started to hate his grandmother on that day—the day when he saw Ciel frowning, the bottom of his eyes puffed pinkish red from crying, and from agony of not being able to talk to Sebastian and Charles at all.

He wanted time to go back to its previous days.

He turned around a corner and a pained yelp met his forehead as he stumbled on the floor.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—"

"Nah, it's alright. I wasn't look—"

He paused as he stared at the person in front of him.

"—ing..."

Blue eyes widened in shock as he spoke—his breath caught in his throat as he stared into those violet-blue orbs.

"_Lady Russia?_"

* * *

"_At every time I've always known_

_That you were there, upon your throne._

_A lonely queen without her king,_

_I longed for you, my love forever."_

—Again, Lenny Kravitz

* * *

So, who _is_ "Lady Russia"? :D Any guesses? :3


	19. Reduco, Return

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_"Lady Russia?"_

**DISCLAIMER: **Boo hoo. No. D:

**A/N:** My mind is blank for the moment. But I will say that some of the foreign words you will see will be difficult to pronounce. At least, that's what I thought when I first learned Russian. XD Oh, speaking of which, four people correctly guessed who's Lady Russia: sebbyfan, Souseiseki Rose (you know how and why you guessed it XD), Sachiel Angelo (you were right, it's Charles' first love :3) and itaintnoworries. Oh yeah, and someone stole the first chapter of this fic and posted it on Quizilla. I'm currently waiting for the reply of the 1:1 support of the site. PoisonedTAFFY, I'm waiting for your reply regarding you taking part in the copying of my story.

* * *

Charles hastily muttered excuses and apologies as soon as the young lady in front of him only tilted her head, clueless to what he just uttered. Or so it seemed.

He stood and helped her up with clamped lips (as to not say anything unnecessary), outstretching a hand for her to hold—she took it in a daze, and everything suddenly felt like déjà vu to her befuddled mind—he smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head as he looked away from the staring female in front of him and bit his lip in a sudden fit of embarrassment. Charles was sure that this woman would start to think of him as a loon from now on.

Though, he never actually expected her to answer his question with a soft and mumbled, "Yes?"

Surely he must have heard wrong, right?

"No, I'm really sorry," he began. "I wasn't looking. You don't have to answer my question, really. I thought you were someone I know. My apologies, madamoiselle." He bowed, as what he had been taught when he did someone wrong. And it felt familiar, this scenario. It reminded him of the smell of the freshly dampened soil, of dirtied clothes on the fields, of the scent of the pattering rain, of the sound of the clashing foil swords and of words stringed into laughter as he and a blurred individual—whom he tried to forget after all these years—tumbled down on the flowers, and of a lavender-eyed maiden—whom he tried to forget after _all these years—_he had once loved with all his young heart.

"I should be making my way to my grandmother now. I'm sorry to have kept you away from your schedule. Off to your chores now, miss. And good day to you," he smiled. And once again, he couldn't shake away the feeling of familiarity within those violet-blue eyes—everything felt like a silent, monochrome film, reeling all thoughts that had been buried deep in the recesses of longing minds—and with one last smile, he passed by her stunned and speechless form, her hands poised outward as though trying to reach him, and he failed to notice the slight quiver of a bottom lip and chin as she withdrew her hands to her skirts, along with the lone tear that dropped from her bronzed cheek and onto the sleeve of her uniform. And a breathless sigh crept its way from the maid's esophagus as the sound of the footsteps ebbed away from her dainty ears.

She turned, her skirts and her albescent locks fluttering as she moved, and she was met with his retreating back—_All too familiar! All too much!_—and as she uttered, _whispered,_ the words that left her mouth—

"..._Spasityel_ Charles...!"

—She realized that it was him she had been searching for since she returned to London.

He turned on his heel around the corner of the long hallway, and, without meeting his sky-blessed gaze, felt the faintest twinge in her limping heart.

"_Spasityel...! Ya vozhvratilsya!_" she had hoarsely whispered.

He vanished, and he failed to hear her choking words as she knelt on the maroon carpet of the cold and lonely halls—pushing back her tears as she finally broke herself to cry on tears that will never soothe her wailing heart.

_I've returned, my saviour!_

* * *

His informal resumé—in his mind, as he said so to himself repeatedly—was nothing of professional of the sort, it had looked like something he would type for the sake of having a biography on some social media network. He bit his lips and twitched his hand.

Twenty nine years old. Male. Still single. Works at the Guelph manor as the butler slash chef. Likes doing crochet and secretly talks to the birds in the garden. Likes the color yellow. Buys a new pair of glasses every month. Is secretly fed up being ordered around by an old woman and her guests. Blames his family lineage because of his position in the society. Secretly likes brooding individuals—Hannah included, but will never tell her because she likes somebody else. And most of all...

He hates cats with a passion.

His name was Faustus. Claude Truffle Faustus. The half-brother of William Truffle Spears (whom he hated very much, _Mother had always loved him more than I,_ he always drilled so in his mind) through his mother's side. He had always hated felines—no thanks to one innocent cat who accidentally tipped over his ant farm when he was a kid—and had since then had been Claude's most hated creatures.

And that included the half-blinded guest's pet cat, Tabitha.

It seemed that his feelings towards the cat was clearly shown on his apathetic face, for it had, once again, destroyed the bird feeds in his room. How it managed to get in, he would never know.

He counted to ten in a soft voice and let himself think of the little birds fluttering about in the wind. His eyes then zoomed in on the scampering cat. The feline was sneaky, too.

"Much like its owner."

* * *

"Becoming a gentleman is the utmost importance for someone of your status. It excudes the brightness and charm of a man. It makes him chivalrous and gallant. And also, a lady is always charmed by those aspects of the male species."

_She makes men sound like animals._

The woman, the tutor—plump and round like an apple, he mused—paused and regarded her student with a tight-lipped smile. The student, who was in the form of a very bored-looking and frowning Sebastian, only nodded—in space, it seemed—for her to continue whatever she was saying with her high-pitched and operatic voice.

It had always been like this since he was forced to move in this place. His tutors were nothing but an inept excuse for teaching. They were nothing like the teachers he have back at the Academy. Sure, some of them were quirky and some of them use unorthodox and eyebrow-raising methods for teaching—Mister Chamber being the most notorious of them—but at least there was no tense atmosphere in every class. Even the tutorial sessions were something to look forward to, and nothing to be fearful about. He could not help but to compare them to these ladies who were teaching him. Ah, how barren his young life had become.

"—And after that, you smile to the lady and—"

He could almost see Ciel smiling beside him, giggling at a hidden joke he and the boy shared—he gazed at his right for a good measure, and was sad to reveal that no one was beside him—Sebastian frowned.

"No, not like that, your grace. A smile!"

He thought of Ciel again—a smiling Ciel—and he smiled.

"That's right, your grace. A smile just like that!"

He smiled wider as he thought of his friend's hand holding his, much like their first encounter. Had it really been that long?

"And now, to the proper way of eating—"

Sebastian's eyes went closed as he daydreamed further about the boy that never left his musings. He pondered again—for the tenth time, he counted—of Ciel laughing in the garden, the flower wreath that he made sitting atop of his moonlight-blessed hair.

Ah, bliss.

* * *

"Now, put your right foot forward and walk like how a cat would."

She huffed through her dainty nose as she balanced a thick volume of a dictionary on her petite head, and tried to do as she was told. She had been forced into a series of etiquette sessions for five hours a day, along with a few additional hours for her studies. Sebastian had been put in one of those lessons, too. She sighed as she made her way back as gracefully as she could. And her tutor smiled at her.

"Very nice, miss. You'll make a fine young lady in a few days, Miss Beatrice!"

"Thank you."

Her smile had gone as quickly as it came—replaced by a frown as she stared at the door of the lounge.

Sebastian must have been as bored as she was.

* * *

"I've called you two today to tell you both that you will have you lessons in this house for two months."

Sebastian clenched his teeth. Beatrice squirmed beside him. He had e-mailed Ciel a while back—thankful that the teen replied too eagerly to his messages (he could already picture that smile on his face as he replied, he refused to call him though; he could sense someone always watched him whenever they thought that he was not looking, and knowing that would be a risk if he called Ciel)—that he will return in a month. And now this? He won't be attending school just for this woman's wants? Well, he won't have that.

"And pray tell, why is that?" he asked. He refused to put any honorifics on her name. He had long threw away what little respect he had for the elder woman since he first met her.

Victoria glanced at the defiant teen—those lessons on manners have not quite been drilled in his puny head, she mused—and raised a thin eyebrow when his expression mimicked hers. She then batted her eyelashes, asking the raven in a silent challenge—Beatrice was not oblivious of the tension in the air.

"I want you two to be bethrothed. As simple as that."

Ah. So that's what it was.

Despite the neutrality of his mask that was in the form of his ivory-white face, he felt dead to the world as soon as those words passed her wrinkled lips. He despised her with all his might.

And the world suddenly felt cold within Sebastian's grasp.

* * *

He hummed as he hopped on the tiles—smiling at both students and teachers alike.

The students were not surprised by this current train of behaviour from the president's son. The word leaked as quickly as fire throughout the campus—that Ciel finally had contacted Sebastian after two weeks of his absence. The culprits who had spread the word—Grell, and also from Ash (his "source" was through his sister, but no one needed to know that)—smiled as they passed the word from classmate to classmate, from friend to friend and from club to club. It seemed that everything will come back to normal, after all. The son of the owner of the Academy will return to his vibrant joy of spreading smiles and jokes to his fellow schoolmates. They missed the jolly and carefree Ciel they grew to love.

He smiled as he entered the infirmary—to greet his auntie (who was not in the room the moment he entered) and Missus Wendy, he hadn't done so in the past few weeks since Sebastian's absence—and was not surprised to see the little woman downing on a bottle of vodka. He hummed and coughed, and gained the attention of the nurse.

"Oh, 'ello, Mister Phantomhive. Heard ya already have contact with Mister Michaelis?"

The smile she received was too bright for her glazed eyes.

"Guess that's a yes," she shrugged as she took another swig of the beverage, and heaved a pleased sigh as she wiped her lips with her sleeve.

Ciel stood by the doorway awkwardly, and noted that she needed to stop her drinking habits one of these days. He was startled when the bottle was suddenly hovering on his eyes.

"Fer that, let's celebrate! To the master—!"

The boy was quick to take a step back as he held up his hands, "Uh, no, thank y—"

"Wendy, that's not the way to treat the president's son."

"Oh. 'Ello there, Miss Barnett!"

The door was opened and Madam Red emerged holding out a tray of cakes with a little smile as she looked at her beloved nephew. It took him quite some time for him to be able to smile again—it seemed that Sebastian was Ciel's key to everything—including his smile. She remembered how a few days ago when she visited her sister, she saw the dark circles under Ciel's eyes. She had waved at him then with a broad smile and offered him some cakes for treats, hoping that it would lift her nephew's mood even for just a bit; the teen only frowned and stared off in space with a slump.

And now, it seemed that it took a miracle to see him smiling again.

Angelina handed Ciel a slice of blueberry cheesecake—he took it with gusto and immediately took a huge bit as soon as he got a fork—she smiled.

"So I heard you got in touch with him?"

His wide smile was an indication that he was too happy about the subject being brought up—not caring for the bits of crumbs sticking to the edges of his mouth.

"Yup! And he says he'll be back in a month!"

The lady hummed as she took a sip of Wendy's vodka—and stopped when the first sip made her a bit wobbly from where she stood, it made her question how the little woman manages to keep her control of slurring to a minimum everyday. She coughed as she handed back the glass to her nurse.

"A month, you say. I guess you'll be ready to celebrate once he comes back?"

Wendy took another swig of her vodka, unmindful of Angelina's glare at her to stop drinking in front of her nephew.

Ciel took another mouthful of the cake and gulped it down from excitement, "Yup! And I'll make sure he gets all the cakes and cats he could get!"

Oh, such innocence!

Angelina only laughed at her nephew's smiles.

_If only I had been a mother!_

* * *

"I saw you, I met you once upon a dream—Oh, Ciel! Good day!"

The aforementioned turned and smiled at his cousin broadly (she had been practicing her dance lessons with glee for the past few weeks, now, only if he knew _why_, she always hated her dance lessons) than what the girl was used to seeing these past few days, and he idly wondered how she knew it was him who passed by, seeing as the door only let in a bit of a crack of what's going on outside.

"Hello, Elizabeth. Good day to you. I assume auntie is here, too?" he opened the door wide to let himself in and sat in one of the plush chairs, humming the song she had been singing before he came in—he hummed it in a way that's _too_ enthusiastic, for Elizabeth's taste, but said no word as she, too, sat in front of him, a cup of tea was served by Tanaka a few minutes prior, and they drank it in peace.

"You're happy today, I see," she observed as she smiled—her beam was returned tenfold, it seemed—and she could not help but to follow her sentence with, "This is about that person, isn't it? Has he contacted you?"

With this, Ciel immediately put down his cup of tea with a smile and took out his phone, searching for one specific mail he recieved—and when he found it, he lent it to a blinking Elizabeth; her eyes scanned the words on the phone and she read the message out loud, smiling as she read on.

"'Yes. I'll be returning after a month, and after that, I'll make you lots of flower wreaths like how we used to—and maybe finally I'll be able to make my brother's special curry. And we'll invite our friends, yes?' This was dated two days ago! Oh, Ciel!"

Elizabeth's smile widened as she gave the phone back to Ciel, and with a squeal, she stood up and held his hands, "We're going to have a party? He's really coming back?" When Ciel nodded, she immediately jumped and twirled as she babbled on about the dresses and trinkets that she would wear—(The color of the dress should be pink and white! With ruffles! And I'll go to the shop today for a new necklace and earrings!)—and the teen smiled at her enthusiasm. She was as happy as he was, it seemed—the sparkle in her eyes as she droned on—(I'll call the best chefs from France and Italy to come over! I'm sure father would agree!)—was proof enough that she was happy for the news regarding Sebastian.

She turned to him—her cheeks dusted pink from speaking too fast about her plans for the upcoming party—and smiled as she dragged Ciel along, away from the parlor.

"Come! Let's tell my mother! She'll be thrilled!"

"Aunt Frances?" he asked, a bit nervous about saying her name—he was still a bit scared of his aunt, after all these years of training him with foil swords and military discipline—though he respects her for her courage and wisdom.

"Of course! I bet she'll be happy to hear about Sebastian's homecoming!" They trotted along the hallways, hands encircling one another's as they passed by a sleeping Pluto.

They hollered their greetings to a blinking William and a wide-eyed Angela as they passed by, smiling all while.

"Kids will be kids," William sighed as the maid giggled.

* * *

"Now, twirl her around—yes, that's right—and then pause. Good. Now, again."

He huffed as he let go of his partner and wiped his clammy hands on his trousers. He had been doing the same routine for two hours now!

He grinned as he faced the woman with a saccharine smile, one that he used for the past few weeks on ladies (Victoria's unnecessary guests) who tried to get his attention, all of them failed, much to their sadness—who was, by now, looking at the smiling face of Sebastian. She raised a skeptical brow, "Yes? Is there something the matter, Sebastian?" The sweetness of her voice was grating on the raven's ears—she was anything but sweet, he mused.

"Is it alright if we take a break? I'm feeling quite parched, you see." For emphasis, he gulped as he ran a hand over his forehead—and as he felt his phone vibrating from his pocket—he tapped his chest as he coughed.

She nodded her approval, and Sebastian wasted no time in running away from Beatrice and the suffocating room. In all truth, he _was_ quite parched—a few glasses of orange juice would do—and he headed straight for the kitchen. He took the pitcher of juice from the fridge and took two glasses of the beverage. He sighed as the liquid refreshed his throat.

Setting down the glass, and making sure no one was in the kitchen—especially that statue of a man, he cursed—he took out his phone and read the message he received. It was from Ciel. He read his message—and he smiled.

"Now, only if I can get there on time."

He stuffed the phone back to his pocket—and tapped it flat—he forced himself not to shed a tear for his cruel twist of fate. He knew for himself that he was never born into the world of the noble blood—at least, that's what he knew of. He knew nothing of fine food and manners and nice clothes before Charles picked him up and away from the blood-splattered walls he had clung himself to.

So why the sudden treatment of him being like royalty in the house? And not to mention—

—That horrid-tasting announcement that Victoria spluttered yesterday. That proposal of marriage to Beatrice! Preposterous! Also, judging from the reaction from her face when she had said the news, the girl had became paler than his own skin—which meant that she knew nothing about that woman's plans. Marriage was something never to be taken lightly, as what he had been taught by Charles. And being forced into marriage to someone he barely knew, and someone whom he disliked, was not what Charles planned for him; he was sure of it. His brother would be deeply saddened by this news once he'll hear it.

"Oh, joy."

He felt his throat becoming dry again, and he took another glass of juice—and gulped it while he thought of ways to escape the current path he's being forced to trek—unknowing of the silent gaze peering at him by the doorway.

* * *

"Eh? Father already gave him Edward's gift? But—that's not fair!"

The woman—who stood before them in a regal manner with a strong personality as she moved with each flick of a wrist and thumb like she owned the place her feet had settled onto—sighed as she crossed her arms. Ciel was sure that his aunt was not pleased about Elizabeth's recent bouts of whines.

"Your father told you that you have to complete the tests he gave you. Edward had done his share. So he deserved it. _You,_ on the other hand..." she didn't finish her sentence as she saw her daughter's face suddenly reddened—and as she predicted in her mind—she bawled. Frances closed her eyes.

"But I wanted that! I told father that I'll take care of it and I'll put a nice, big bow on the handle to make it cute! And I even got a polisher for it to make it shine everyday! And a glass encasement for it so it won't get dirty! Oh, mother, please reconsider!"

It was then that Frances—with another wistful sigh—opened her eyes, and silently berated herself when she made the mistake of looking into her daughter's shimmering emerald eyes.

No matter how stern she is, no matter how many years she vowed to herself that she will not give in to trivial things, one thing was certain that she will never get over of.

And that is to see her daugther crying.

She clamped her lips as she patted Elizabeth's head, smiling all the while, "Alright. But only if you complete the tasks that _I_ will give you."

And Elizabeth squealed as she hugged her mother—quite tightly, too.

"Oh, mother, thank you! Thank you so much! I promise—I promise you won't be disappointed!"

She let go as she as she felt Ciel staring at them, she smiled at her cousin. "Isn't this great, Ciel? I get to have my present after all!" She giggled. Ciel tilted his head and pouted, "What present?"

Upon hearing the question, the girl slowly nibbled her lower lip as she hastily took a few steps back and shied away from her cousin's curious gaze—she laughed awkwardly as she fumbled her skirt with her teeny fingers. Frances only raised an eyebrow on her daughter's sudden change of behaviour. She knew the reason why, of course—it was the only thing that she refuse to tell her cousin (with all her might, the woman believed that Elizabeth would choose to die than to tell him about _it_). But then again, she wanted her daughter to face her fear—to be the one to tell him about this "present", as she would put it. She smirked.

"It was a present that father promised to give me, you see," she looked at the wall when she spoke, her cheeks forming a slight tinge of paleness from their usual dusts of pink. It piqued Ciel's interest.

"And you're acting strange because of this present, I assume," it was Ciel's turn to raise a thin brow, and Frances laughed inside.

_As expected of my family._

The teen took another step, Elizabeth backed away, all the while making the marchioness' smirk widen. Ah, the stubborness of today's youth! When they want something, they will surely do any means possible to get it.

"Well, it's a girl's present, you see," she looked at the floor as she heard Ciel take another step towards her.

"Then why are you so afraid?"

Ah. The question Frances had been dying to hear from her nephew's lips. Her eyes darted towards her quivering daughter—expecting an answer that will surely sound laughable to her ears.

"It's a girly gift. A—a really feminine gift! And you—you're a boy!" her pigtails whooshed as she begged for her mother's help with her eyes. Frances pursed her lips in thought. And when she saw her daughter's stare becoming unbearable—she yielded.

She coughed, and gained the attention of the curious boy, "Ciel."

Immediately, he perked up and looked at her—blind to the sighing Elizabeth as she wiped her brow—he blinked, "Yes, auntie?"

"Earlier, I bought you some cake and cookies. You might want to try it."

And as Frances expected, Ciel beamed as he hastily thanked his aunt and rushed to the kitchen—knowing that William is there, seeing as he takes care of everything about the food being brought upon the house—all thoughts about his previous questions about the sudden oddity of his cousin's behaviour vanished in an instant.

Elizabeth stared and blinked at the empty space where Ciel had been standing a few seconds prior to hearing her mother's words.

"...Um. Thank you, mother?"

"Don't mention it. Now, to get that cake. Let's go before Ciel eats it all."

And Elizabeth laughed.

* * *

"So you've seen him?"

"Affirmative."

"Hm," a pause, and a sound of nails tapping against wood was heard.

"Keep an eye on him. He's as cunning as a fox."

A nod. He was dismissed. And Claude was gone, leaving the wrinkled clump of heap of flesh and bones on the plush chair that was Victoria Guelph. She exhaled, rather too harsh as she wheezed a cough on the process of breathing, and eyed the familiar picture of her grandson and his precious little _brother._

"Sebastian Michaelis."

* * *

A slim hand knocked on the door twice, flinching as she knocked too hard and caused herself to feel slight pain on her knuckles, she waited for the sound of the door opening, nothing came. She tried again.

And this time, she was met with a blue eye staring right at her—peering through the crack of the large, oak door. "Yes?" the person said—it sounded croaked and dry to Beatrice's ears, and she felt pity for the man she had known as her second brother. The blue eye was closed shut as he sniffled, and the door was opened for her to enter the room without another word. She took the offer to enter inside.

It was quite seldom that she entered this room—the sullen and gloomy atmosphere never bothered her before. The crisp colors of cobalt blue on the walls did nothing to ease the bile rising on her throat. She gingerly took a seat near the dresser, looking at the owner of the room as he paced, too slowly for her liking, towards her. It seemed that, ever since he moved back to this place, he became a man that she had never knew. She bit her lip as she looked at the hollow cheekbones and the coal-hued eyes he had developed these past few weeks in the Guelph manor. Seeing him like this reminded her of how Sebastian looked these days. It ached her heart.

"Mister Charles?" she began, and twitched as she saw those waned blue eyes boring into her face. It unnerved her.

"Please make it quick, Beatrice. You know how you-know-who will make a fuss if that person finds you here."

The words rang loud in her ears—she knew who he was referring to—and detected that miniscule hint of contempt laced in those whispered and tired thoughts. A curse had befallen on the Grey-Michaelis brothers, it seemed.

"Yes. Um. I'll go straight to the point, then," she sighed and willed the bile to go away. "I was thinking—if—you can get Sebastian back to the Academy, it would be beneficial to both of you. Why not just," she shrugged as she waved her hands in a manner of quickness, "I don't know, run away from here? Go back to Mister Phipps and to your house? It would be easy, right? She's old, you're young, we can outnumber her!"

Charles then smiled—sadly—as he shook his head tiredly, and from where she was sitting, Beatrice could see a bit of glimmer (of what she thought as tears) from the edges of his eyes.

"It is never that easy when it comes to this place. Trust me, I've tried to do it once. I never did it again—to run away, that is."

And Beatrice's copper eyes widened.

"You did _what_?"

* * *

"My saviour—I've returned..."

She whispered as she wiped the plates clean, ignoring the crack of her voice as she tried to swallow another soundless sob. It had been far too long since she saw him—and she would never forget that day—on how she met Charles Grey.

It was a cloudy morning then, on the skies above Hyde Park, as she tumbled on the mud, as she ran away from the oncoming downpour of the rain. She had been searching for something—a thing, a trinket, that meant the world to her, for someone as young as her. She had hid her shivering frame beneath the branches of a nearby tree, knowing well that a flash of lightning might come and destroy her place of solace. She had whimpered then, and she knew that she had lost her favorite accessory when she ran away from a few kids who had pushed her into a ditch.

She knelt as she heard a rumble of a thunder from far away—whimpering still and forcing herself to calm down. It had no effect as her eyes looked at the now isolated park, with people running around, away from the tears of the sky. And she remembered why she had been searching for the little trinket she loved. She had vied for the color of that little accessory that used to sit atop of her white-locked head—it was a headband that had the colored of the darkest violet she had ever seen—it was a gift from someone whom she barely knew.

Her mother—whom she failed to have any recollection of.

So she kept it on her head for all times, imagining it as a source of calm and comfort. And it had now been gone.

She ran away from the solace of the tree she had been hiding under, in order to search for that precious thing.

The rain obscured her vision, but she paid no heed as she ran on the damp grass and to the streets.

It was then that she bumped to a lightpost.

She had tumbled and looked at the source of her current obstacle.

It was not a lightpost.

It was a boy—with the lightest shade of hair that matched her own.

She had apologized then—the boy had only smiled as he stretched out a hand for her to hold—and hurriedly tried to scramble to her feet when she caught a sight of purple in his hand.

"_Excuse me, did you find that somewhere nee' the bushes over there?"_ she had asked.

And she had remembered everything too clearly as she smiled when he answered (_"Yes. I got it from there. I wan'to give this to grandma! She migh'like it! And it looks pwetty, too!"_)—like a vivid dream that she could never forget—he had always been kind to anyone; perhaps, too kind. Yes.

He had always been too kind, even now.

And now...

She had returned to get back what he had once lost.

* * *

Why?"

"I guess—I did it on impulse. It was always because of me that she got into trouble."

"Who?"

Copper eyes were wide as she asked Charles question after question—this was a new side of him and she wanted to know about the reason _why_ he tried to run away from the manor. She could guess, but that guess involved Sebastian—and by the look on his solemn face, she mused that it was not her classmate he had been describing; it was a girl, someone whom she never knew of—and it piqued her curiosity.

"She's someone I have met before. I was five at that time. Heh, I remember how it rained that day on the park. And—she looked so dazed about looking for a headband!" he paused, and laughed at the memory, Beatrice tilted her head. Charles waved the thought off, and rubbed his eyes as he spoke, "I saw that headband a few minutes before it started raining. It was a colorful piece, you see. It's a very dark shade of purple, that headband. And it had three flowers of purple on the side—very feminine, but I knew nothing of that then. All I knew back then was that I thought it would pretty on grandmother. She likes irises, you see. And seeing that headband reminded me of those flowers she used to grew in the garden."

There was a quiet "oh" in the room—and they felt silent.

She paused. That did not answer her question.

"Mister Charles?"

"Yes?"

She hesitated in her next question, it might be too prodding of her, "Um. How is she connected to you trying to run away?"

He laughed—and forced a tear not to fall from one of his eyes, he had tried to forget her, after all.

"I told her to run away before grandmother hurts her."

The girl's ears suddenly felt warm—from anger, she supposed.

"I told grandmother I would marry her once we're old enough. She had been so happy, then. Grandmother then told us something about her being a hindrance to the Guelph-Grey blood—and she banished her away before I knew it. I tried to follow her—it was midnight, then—but she caught me and dragged me by my feet back to this room."

A gasp, "That's horrible!"

* * *

Outside the room, Victoria frowned.

_It's really horrible, my child. Really, really horrible._

* * *

A sound of laughs and happy cries echoed in the Phantomhive manor as the source of laughs ran from room to room, from servant to servant, to announce the good news.

"Sebastian's coming back! Sebastian's coming back!"

A tinkle of laughter was rewarded for the child's efforts of bringing in the good news, "Yes, yes. We know, sweetie. Now, what would the little," she paused and huffed as Rachel hugged her son—who hugged her back just as tight, "Ball of Happiness would like to eat for his return, hm?"

Said Ball of Happiness paused and scrunched a pout as his mind reeled in thought. Sure, he had been excited—too excited, in fact—for Sebastian's news of return; but, of course, they would need something—something first class, Rachel said—to eat as a celebration, yes?

"Well," he finally said after a brief moment of silence, "he likes macaroni. Might want to include that in the menu."

Rachel laughed, "Alright. I'll tell William that. Though, I'm sure he already knew that—you know how he is, honey. He memorizes things too easily."

Ciel blinked, and guffawed after realizing what his mother had said, "Oh, right!" He turned and headed for the doorway, hollering as he smiled, "Oh, William!"

* * *

"Hannah."

Upon hearing her name, she flinched as she turned away from the vase she was wiping, "Yes?" It was hard not flinch at the sound of that raspy voice that belonged to the owner of the house—she never really thought of her as her employer. It was nothing but a trifle thing to mention it to anyone.

She abandoned her cleaning to come in front of the elderly woman sitting upon a plush chair, clearly mulling something over about things she'd rather not hear about, seeing as she was already troubled enough as it is by a certain blue-eyed man.

Victoria inhaled a deep breath—a withheld sigh, Hannah observed—and looked at the window near her. Surely, the years were coming on to her, the lines on her face running a bit deeper than they were a few days ago, and those continuously waning eyes that roam very far from where she was sitting were looking as tired as her hands had been whenever she cleaned the house. Surely, she'd be saying something absurd again, Hannah thought so with a small frown. It did her nothing good, the frown on her face, that is.

"Do you remember," she began. Oh, Hannah thought, it must be something about her musings about the days of her youth. Victoria, after a moment of silence, continued, "how—apart—I was, shall we say, about your behaviour, back then?"

_Ah. So that's what it was. Having regrets, are we?_

"Yes."

It was a simple answer. A one-worded one. Nothing was needed to say after that. It brought forth many unwanted memories about her and the one that she refused to forget.

Victoria seemed to stop talking altogether, and rubbed her slowly wrinkling pale hands as she, for the second time, sighed at the window, "Do you remember how I used to pull your hair and drag you to the floor just to get you away from him?"

She tensed, and horrible memories resurfaced on her mind—she was testing her—and she was giving in.

"_Don't let you guard down, Anya!"_

Oh, how she missed hearing that voice!

"Yes," she finally replied after a few huffs of breath. She swore that the tension in this house will be the cause of her stress—and will finally be the cause of her untimely death—someday.

Victoria nodded and moistened her lips, her gaze now boring towards Hannah's frowning face, "Well. I realized—I was wrong—about the treatment I gave you on those past few years."

Hannah showed no signs of acceptance—refusing to give in the raspy words of the woman. Her hands remained on the softness of her skirt and apron, waiting for her final verdict. She closed her eyes—mentally preparing herself for the barrage of harsh words that will surely come from one fierce Victoria Guelph.

"Will you accept to be my grandson's fianceé once again?"

It was not the words that Hannah Anafeloz expected to hear.

* * *

"Alright. That's everything."

He tightened his belt and finally put Tabitha inside his bag—the cat meowed at the sudden lack of free space to curl herself into—and closed it, not entirely, but enough space to let her breathe properly.

He got his all his belongings—double-checking them for a good measure—and gulped as he opened the door.

It was now eight o'clock. Sebastian promised Ciel he would be back to the mansion as soon as possible. No thanks to the old woman's audacious proposal to him and Beatrice, everything would be ruined.

He wouldn't want that.

So with a last huff, he treaded the halls of the Guelph manor, the blueprint of the house sealed within his mind. He memorized it all to the last detail.

_The sun is still up._

He paused at the end of the corner—and looked—no one there—he sighed.

_Keep your eyes and ears on high alert, self!_

He trudged away from the woman's office—cursing it under his breath—and ran, minding the baggage that has Tabitha in it. She meowed at the treatment. Sebastian breathed.

He walked and tiptoed on the floors despite it being covered in lush carpets.

He was a man on a mission—a mission to go back to his home, back to the warm feeling of his brother's humble house, back to Ciel.

With that in thought, he quickened his pace and ducked from the light of the doorways creeping beneath his feet, he was near the gardens, now.

He breathed—Tabitha squirmed inside the bag, and shushed her, she quieted—and tiptoed away from the windows.

The view of the gardens was nearing to his vision.

Step, step, step. Pause.

He looked to his left, no one there. Good.

He trotted away from the walls and grabbed the knob of the garden doors.

He opened it—a smile blooming on his face as it clicked—

—Only to be met with the one he had been avoiding the most.

"Your grace?"

_Bloody hell._

* * *

"_Are they themselves to blame, the misery, the pain?_

_Didn't we let go, allowed it, let it grow?"_

—Our Solemn Hour, Within Temptation


	20. Fatalis Fatum, Fatal Fate

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_"I daresay that something had been amiss since the day I told you that you would be wed to her."_

**DISCLAIMER: **Meh. :O

**A/N: **Dear College, you have inadvertently ruined my schedule of my much-needed sleep and typing my fanfics, not to mention, I really need to update my main fic. Sincerely, Me Who Shall Not Be Named.

* * *

It was not supposed to happen.

He had memorized everything, every single spec and miniscule detail of the blueprint of the house and of the servants' daily lives. He realized that every move was a routine in this house; hence, his current calculations of everything being stuck in the schedule up to the last millisecond of the clock.

It appeared that he had, unfortunately, failed to remember the strangeness and spontaneity of the human mind—of it to be able to do things out of the blue without any regard for the future consequences of their actions.

He had memorized Victoria's schedule first. Every morning at 6:30, Hannah, with the constant look of sadness upon her bronzed face, would wake her up for her daily breakfast in bed. At 8:00, the lady of the house would go from room to room—something that became a habit of hers over the years since her husband's death—to check if every single thing is in order, and to make sure that no dust will corrupt the spines and the edges of the pages of her precious books that were always littered about on random surfaces on the house. In every room, there was a book of a certain subject under the sun, it seemed. He had memorized those books, too, in the short (or long, in Sebastian's point of view) amount of time that he felt bored around the house. Every habit and quirk of Victoria Guelph was written in the recesses of Sebastian's observant gaze.

The same also goes for Hannah.

She was something of an enigma, he had once mused. And her habit of going to the gardens precisely at every 2:00 in the afternoon piqued Sebastian's interest once. He had followed her then—_1:59, Hannah Anafeloz would open the door (with the tiniest bit of a smile on her face) to the gardens with her right hand, and the fingers of her left hand being clutched to the fabrics of her skirts—_and was mildly surprised to see her twirling around the bushes of bluebells and touching the tips of the tallness of the hyacinths. He had always thought of her as a reserved and calm woman. The fragrance of the flowers must have a calming effect on her mind, he had once thought. He saw nothing wrong in seeing her having fun with the flowers, for Ciel also loves them. Although, most of the time—when he takes a peek from behind a rose bush in order to further investigate her behaviour—when she thinks she's alone in the gardens, Sebastian could hear her speaking a language that he could not decipher. He had let her be.

It was Claude that he was looking out for the most.

Every morning at 5:30, he would rise and rouse other servant from across the hall—resulting in Sebastian having quite a number of sleepless nights in the process of assessing their quirks and whatnot—he would then make an assortment of pastries and menus for the day. At 6:15, he would prepare the food for both the staff (which consists of himself and Hannah only, sadly) and the masters of the house. Victoria's always the earliest one to be roused from sleep by her servant.

Ah. Where did he go wrong?

He gulped—and heard his own heartbeat pounding in his deathly pale ears—as he stared into those piercing sun-dyed eyes. It seemed that he underestimated Claude.

Ah. Underestimating him was his downfall.

"Your grace. Pray tell, where are you going with that amount of luggage?"

His mouth watered and dried, trying to come up with an excuse for his predicament.

He came up with none.

"Uh," was his (not so) smart response—and excuse—after a few minutes of silence.

Claude only raised eyebrow.

Sebastian tried to think again, and as he shifted his foot with his head bowed, he heard a soft meow from inside the bag on his torso. _She needs air, _he mused.

He heard Claude cough—and he made the mistake of looking up to those hollow eyes.

"A cat's in there, isn't it."

* * *

Ciel was anxious.

He paced across the banquet hall of the manor, back and forth, back and forth, as though doing so would ease his befuddled mind. The fragrance of the lilies and tulips and roses did nothing to calm the slowly-panicking child.

Sebastian's words of returning home were starting to fail Ciel.

He said he would be in the residence by noon—at earliest, Ciel had assumed—as he said so in his last text message before he squealed in joy and announced his message to the house.

It was past his deadline, and Ciel grew worried. Sebastian never breaks a single promise since they first met. The rest of the household and some of his friends—save for the Phantomhive maid—were in a flurry of activity in decorating and preparing the house to its fullest. It was Sebastian's homecoming, after all, at least, that what Ciel told them repeatedly. He loved him too much, as everyone concluded for quite some time.

His heart pumped more blood in his veins than necessary—that much he could feel—and Angela, who had been standing by his side for quite some time with a worrisome face, was growing weary as well. She feared for her young master's well-being than Sebastian's—the poor boy might have another fit of asthma attacks if he continued this type of habit of pacing and being on edge all the time.

She frowned, and truly, she would be daft if she were to turn a blind eye to the face of the clock glaring straight at her. Master Sebastian was late on his _own appointed time._ It never happened, not even once for as far as she could remember. He was punctual, straight to the point on his arguments, and he values time as much as he values the seconds he had spent with her master, very much so on the latter.

Why—no, no it must _not_ be—but, what if—oh, heavens above, no!

She shouldn't be thinking too much.

She should not dwell on things that might—and _would_—hurt her young lord's fragile heart.

But what if he _does_? What if the young boy of 14 was falling in love with another? It might be plausible, was it not? He's a budding man, and his emotions might take control of his heart—he might even realize that his love for his young master unhealt—

—_No._

_Don't think that way, self!_

She bit her lip and clutched the front of her skirts as she watched the teen pacing and breathing harshly in front of her; his steps were quick, like the sands of time that ticked in Ciel's exhausted mind. The poor boy was getting close to tears—as Angela observed from her post.

She could only pray that nothing was happening to the young Michaelis as the Phantomhive child worried for his sake. She could only pray that he was only delayed because of some transportation issues (or maybe Master Charles was doting on him too much again, she immediately dismissed that thought). She hoped that he would be here any minute, smiling and laughing and apologizing at her young lord with his slightly blushing face, ready to greet him with his long and lanky arms.

She closed her eyes as the needles of the clock were nearing their respective destinations. _Any minute now._

The clock struck five.

And Angela clenched her eyes shut as she heard the cherub cry.

* * *

"She despises people who run away from her—she hates them the most."

"Most people would, Mister Charles."

"I know."

Silence. The only sound that could be heard was the deafening sound of the buzz of the wind outside the window.

Charles hated the silence.

"I wouldn't want my brother to experience what happened to me when I tried to run away."

Beatrice shifted her weight on her seat as she eyed the cobalt blue walls of the room—and gulped, rather too loud for her hearing—and before she could stop herself, she asked in a silent hush of a whisper, "...What happened then, Mister Charles?"

Charles Grey, who was looking quite paler and paler as he spoke to Beatrice, only smiled—a sad and pained one, the girl might add—and a tear fell from his paper-white cheek.

"...It was the worst."

* * *

"I daresay that something had been amiss since the day I told you that you would be wed to her."

There was a grumble and a shuffle of cloth from beneath a damp lump of flesh and bones. Victoria had locked herself with Sebastian in his room, seeing as it would seem that he would go to great lengths just to escape her iron grasp. Victoria had Claude all the time to spy on the boy's habits and secrets—he was her trump card.

She looked smug as another slap was thrown at Sebastian's face, marring the teen's petal white cheek with a rosy tinge. It satisfied her, even for just a bit.

"Give up your hopes on seeing that boy, Sebastian. He'll only poison your mind."

The 14-year-old held back a retort as he bit his lip. He was lying forehead down on the carpet, knees hunched to his chest as beads of both sweat and tears dampened his brows and cheeks. She had no right to force him into something that he will never want. He never wanted Beatrice from the start. It was Ciel. It had always been Ciel and it will always be Ciel and it will remain like that until the day he'll destroy the Guelph household. It was the place where unwanted memories were starting to form and the harsh words and actions from both Claude and Victoria were starting to eat him away. Hannah was his only refuge from time to time—although, he could never trust her fully the way he trusted his brother.

Speaking of which...

"...Where's my brother?"

The woman raised a snow-hued eyebrow, curious as to why he suddenly had the interest to change the subject. She eyed the huddled form of Sebastian warily, searching for any signs of offensive actions he might take for a diversion. Seeing as there's no such action was made for a few seconds, she deemed the question as an act of curiosity.

"He's resting in his room as we speak. Why, child? Are you trying to plan something that involves your dear brother Charles? Hm?"

Hearing no response other than a quick tensing of shoulders, Victoria removed her shoe and raised a foot and tapped Sebastian's cheek with it.

"Well?"

And there was that familiar tensing of the teen's shoulders once again. Her smirk turned to a yell when, in a blink of an eye, Sebastian's teeth was suddenly biting on the woman's foot.

She screeched as she saw her foot started to bleed—nevertheless, Sebastian showed no signs of letting her bleeding foot go, even as she repeatedly stomped her other foot on his head.

"Let me go, you filth!"

The words only fueled Sebastian's anger more. He bit harder, and the pungent smell and metallic taste of blood was starting to seep through his lips.

* * *

He was late. Definitely, definitely late.

He had been crying in his room. The decorations intended to lighten up the manor's mood were now mocking him with their faceless smiles.

It was now seven o'clock.

William had taken the reins of taking care of the child from Angela a few minutes ago, it was now his turn to comfort the young teenager.

"Something's wrong. I know it!" spat the child at his bed. He was pacing the room again, and William was sure to make arrangements for the future purchase of shoes for his young lord. It would be beneficial for the poor pair shoes being trodden upon by their owner.

"Young master, I propose that you take a rest for the meantime, being anxious is not doing anything good for your health!"

Ciel paused in mid-stride, his mouth barely agape and those bi-colored eyes swollen with tears. The carpet beneath his feet was silently begging for him to stop walking. The fibres of it had been flat for some time since he entered his room. He gazed at the butler with an unfathomable expression—one that William could not quite grasp—and with another sob, he wiped his tears.

"And I propose that you stop ordering me around, William!" he paused at his uncouth choice of words, eyes wide as he realized what he just said.

Ciel took a shaky breath as he covered his quite chapped lips, and berated himself for acting like a child (and he _is,_ Ciel mused). "I apologize," the boy later said, and the stiff nod from William was his only acknowledgement from the apology uttered.

Ciel mustered a sigh and sat atop of his bed, feeling the soft matress and blankets cold beneath his thighs, he tried not to bawl for the second time—which he found it quite hard to do for the past three hours—and instead, he stared blankly at his sock-clad feet, thinking about various things that might be happening to Sebastian at the moment.

William only gazed at his young and troubled lord.

_Ah, young love, _mused the frowning butler, _Why must you torture people so?_

* * *

Three weeks have passed since then—since that fateful day of the seed of doubt that had painfully bloomed within the recesses of Ciel's befuddled mind and crying heart (_He must have found another and had forgotten all about me,_ he had once told to a surprised Angela)—and the boy of 14 was growing sadder and sadder by the day.

The residents of the house and the Academy noticed the abrupt change of behaviour in the usual smiling boy. He would frown when others would laugh. He would stay silent when others would talk. He would not share his views when others would participate in class. He would isolate himself when others would eat during lunch break. And he would cry to himself when he could see a mop of black hair from a distance that strangely resembled the tiniest bit of a certain pale-skinned male.

Needless to say, the absence of Sebastian broke Ciel's heart.

"Leave me alone," he had once said to his parents after he locked himself in his room. The words were something never uttered by the boy in his entire young life of 14 years—and hearing him saying it sounded strange and foreign to his bitty ears.

He clutched his cell phone in his hand and dialed the all-too-familiar number for numerous times for the past three weeks since the day of Sebastian's supposed homecoming—it rang!—and Ciel smiled as he—_finally—_heard the phone answer. It was just a mere milliseconds away for him to hear his sweet voice and—

"_The number you have dialed is not yet in service."_

That was _not_ what he expected.

He tried again—dialing that sole number that would let him hear that all too warm of a voice.

And there it was again, that annoying voice of the operator on the other end.

"'Not yet in service', my foot!" he muttered as he furrowed his brows with barely hidden annoyance etched on his boyish face.

He bit his lower lip, mentally debating whether he should throw his phone on the nearest corner of the room. He raised his arm high, ready to throw the device to the carpeted floor instead.

It thumped on the plush carpet—still hearing that damned voice of a man-made machine.

Something was wrong, and Ciel Phantomhive _knew_ it since Sebastian left—no—it was long before that—something had been wrong since he first laid eye contact on that accursed woman, Missus Victoria Guelph.

It irked him so.

He picked up his phone and frowned as there was now a tiny bit of a dent on the casing—he apologized to the inanimate and now beeping device—and dialed a number again.

The line on the other end rang twice, and it was answered by a voice that's almost on par with Sebastian's baritone.

"Hello, Ash?"

* * *

Tabitha was on Sebastian's bed—breathing, purring at the lack of affection and food and water during the teen's period of punishment. He and the feline had been under a strict diet consisting only of some crackers and water. Tabitha would never eat it, so he gave her the water straight from the glass. It had been like this for the past four days.

It was now midnight. It had always been this way since that incident where he bit Old Lady Guelph's not-so-useful-anymore of a foot—he was being treated like a prisoner—and he couldn't even see a glimpse of anyone (even his brother) aside from a gloved hand that delivered his food day in and day out through that little door beneath the knob. Claude made that tiny door in a short amount of time. He was being treated like an animal.

How rude.

He had been reckless on that day—and it had almost cost him his life... Not that he cared much as long as he tore that woman from limb to limb.

A pale hand reached out to the door knob. He twisted it.

Nothing happened.

He tried again with a bit of force. Nothing.

He slammed his fist on the door. Nothing. He tried again—both of his fists and his voice this time.

"Charles! Charles!"

He paused as soon as he heard distinct footsteps in front of his bedroom door.

"Master Charles is feeling quite ill at the moment. He's taking a rest, so should you, your grace."

Sebastian huffed and threw a vase to the door, not caring for the dents and splinters it created on the wood, "He's not ill and you know it, Claude! Let me out!"

The stoic man, who only looked at the door with a face of calmness, only stood—stiffly, as always—and smiled.

"Her majesty doesn't want to let you out. Good day, your grace."

And with that, he left.

"Claude! Claude! Let me out! What do you mean she doesn't want me to get out? Claude!"

* * *

"Ciel dear, don't sulk, please!"

The plea was unheard as the boy sulked further. He had cried, then—the small puddle of tears that had dried on the creases of his shirt was a soft shred of his despair to see his beloved person, whom he haven't heard any news from the past few days, not even a single word of evidence to prove that he's still alive.

Ah, how cruel his young life had been! He was 14, and yet, he only needed the presence of that one person to keep him sane and happy.

Sebastian was not coming back, it was the phrase that was drilled in his head—he refused to cave in to his parents' words. It had already been three months, and no shred or sign of any sort of reassurance (that he had been all right after all this time) was heard from him, from one Sebastian Michaelis.

Ciel continued to ignore his mother—and occasionally, his father's—plea as the days passed by. He could sulk and wallow in his misery for all he could care. He was the master of his life, yes? He wanted to grieve the sadness of their fate. He loved him so much; too much, in fact.

Ciel's days passed by like this—weeping for his lost love. What might his life had been, he wondered once, if he had never met that pale and odd-eyed boy on that fateful day? It was hard trying to think of such a thing, trying to think of "what might have been"'s or "what could have been"'s, things that should never be thought about in the first place. He was happy, was he not? As long as he was with him, that is.

* * *

It was a cold September morning, one that a certain child paid no heed to as he smoothed his palms on the crisp, cold glass on the windows. He was tall, quite taller than he had been a few months ago.

A lone eye looked at a blue jay sitting atop of a branch on a nearby tree. It chirped and hopped as it looked at him. He frowned as the bird only tilted its head and chirped once, before it flew away into the fresh air of autumn.

He took a deep breath and blew on the glass—it fogged—and he leant his forehead on the moisture. His ears picked up the sound of a soft meow from behind him. A small smile crept to his face as he turned and immediately knelt. A feline was now moving towards him—she purred as a hand ran through her back, a signal that it was pleased with the attention.

He was tall, pale as a phantom and strange as an ethereal being—in the eyes of some people, he guessed—his fingers were long and thin, bones jutting out the outlines of his hands as he smoothed out the cat's smoke-and-dirt-colored fur. His eyes were hollow, sullen, empty, as it were, if one were to look closely. One eye was crimson, one was that of a shade of the sea.

It was the only thing that reminded him of that person.

"Your grace. It's time."

There was a soft knock, and a sound of a creaking door could be heard as the faint sound of shoe soles met the carpet.

There was a soft shuffle as the person shifted and stood from where he sat, and the cat meowed as it was now being denied of affection.

Red and blue eyes met saffron ones with apathy, his lips drawn in a thin line and hands lying stiffly on his sides as he moved towards the door, not before saying a gentle kiss to the feline as a mild farewell.

"Your grace, would you like to be in the usual place or in the—"

"—I'll go to that place."

There was a pause as the man clad in a butler attire eyed the other with hidden contempt. Here was a boy—barely a man in his mind but not in his body—who had been the object of Claude's distaste for the past few months. He was now near his height, just above his chin, and he was only 15 years old.

Those red and blue eyes still irked him to no end—those eyes would haunt him until the day that he shall die.

A bow, and then, "...Yes, your grace."

* * *

Autumn was now in full bloom, flowers and trees spread their bittersweet cries of happiness and sadness through showing off their colourful and breath-taking foliage—colours of red and orange and yellow and brown have littered the streets of London, children crunching the fluttering leaves with their bitty boots as they walked by. It was nice, if one should think of it.

It had been a year since Sebastian's unwanted departure in London, and his absence had etched an unseen scar in Ciel's grieving heart. His smiles were slowly turning into hollow frowns, forced and empty like his blood-red right eye.

It reminded him of that person, his right eye, that is.

His puffy eyes were becoming his signature state in the Academy. His blue and red eyes would sharply dart left and right, as though constantly trying to look for something—or someone, Grell once supplied to a solemn-faced Ash, and the white-haired teen scrunched his face in pity for the boy (his connections had fallen short about the whereabouts of Sebastian, and he was saddened that he could not help the young and lost lovebirds)—his joyful and carefree disposition were replaced with an air of a calm and silent demeanour. His smiles turned to frowns, his laughs turned to short bouts of silence, and his limitless amount of energy he so previously possessed was changed into a null and void shell of an emotion—of apathy and sadness.

The Joker dubbed him as a loner once.

Ciel and his friends had nothing to say on that one little comment—they all knew it was true.

Jester himself had become a loner since Beatrice's unexpected absence, earning him an earful amount of hushed whispers and rumours and words of comfort behind his back. They say he might do something unforgivable to himself one day, should things continue on as they were. The Joker ignored it all—instead, he glanced occasionally at Ciel's hunched form in the corner on Biology class (he was crying in that isolated corner, and he _knew_ it)—thinking that the little Phantomhive's behaviour affected the people around him.

And it did.

The professor was silent during lessons today, entertaining the students with questions with a simple nod or a shake of a head. He would elaborate and explain it briefly, the student would nod, the professor would force a tight-lipped smile, and they would move on. Seldomly, a few students would take a risk and glance at the back of the room, eyes landing slowly on Ciel, to see if he was crying or not. If he's not, then they're relieved. If he is, then they feel guilty—for reasons they could not fathom—and will take pity for the boy.

It was never like that before Sebastian unwillingly left.

The classroom was a haven for the students. Guffaws and jokes flowed about in the air, chairs and tables screeched on the tiled floors as they moved about in the room. Lessons were lively and fruitful, full of life. There was never a dull moment.

Not now, it seemed.

The professor sighed as he nodded to the students with a strained smile, indicating that today's lesson was over. The pupils filed out, one by one—including The Joker—and Ciel was the only one left. He didn't seem willing to go, as he was, again, staring at the falling leaves outside the window. Poor child, the professor had thought, and he came over to the solemn teen.

"Mister Phantomhive?"

The aforementioned merely hummed, his face still blank as he idly watched a fallen leaf on the window sill. One elbow rested on the table, cupping his chin with the heels of his palm. He was frowning.

He became ignorant to the world.

This time, the professor tried to muster his courage to talk to the boy. He took a deep breath, and with a smile, he opened his mouth to speak.

"I heard you the first time, Professor Doyle."

The professor laughed, an awkward one, Ciel mused. He looked away from the falling leaves outside the window. The scene entertained him to an extent.

His hollow eyes looked at the man who was his Biology and Literature professor, Professor Arthur Doyle. A nervous man that he was, he was never seen without a bottle of water and a bottle of tablets—which some assumed were supplements—to keep him calm. He always popped two or three before his classes start, in order to teach properly in class. His students were used to his odd way of keeping himself calm—though some were feeling uneasy on him taking such types of medicine. He also seemed to like earth colours for his everyday attire in school, brown being his mostly used colour for his coats and jackets. Today was one of those "brown days", as some of the students called it, as he was wearing a light brown coat with a white shirt and a black tie beneath it.

Ciel smiled a bit, but it was gone in an instant as he stood up and picked up his bag, making his way to the door with his apathetic expression. Arthur smiled—for he had seen that little smile of his—at the teen's retreating form.

"Be strong."

It took him all his strength for him not to cry as he closed the door behind him.

"I will."

* * *

Small, measured steps were heard down the hallway as Maylene greeted Ciel with a slight nod, and the 15-year-old merely hummed in recognition for her show of respect, passing by her with a small smile.

They walked down the hallway, Maylene smiling at both of her juniors and seniors (some greeted her with a high-pitched, "Lady May!") while Ciel merely nodded and smiled his tiniest of smiles ("Hello, Ciel!" they would say).

It was when they were away from the hallway that he saw something not meant to be seen—some_one_ not meant to be—oh.

There, among the throngs of students, males and females and from freshmen to seniors alike—was who he had been searching for for the past year.

The sight of that person made him cry.

He had become taller, way taller than he was back then, his skin (was still) as white as the gloomy moonlight, and his hair was as black as the shadows beneath his feet on each midnight—where he would wish upon a star that he would come back—and there—!

"...Sebastian?"

It was a cloudy autumn then.

The leaves flowed and rustled in the hush of the crisp London air, creating a pool of colours on the streets and homes alike. The birds flitted and chirped about on the tree branches, singing songs to their mates and baby birds, hopping from one place to another with their tiny feet, ignoring the silence of two beings beneath their tiny beaks.

"...Ciel?"

Happiness and sadness overflowed from the tips of his eyelids as he willed the tears away. He hadn't shed a tear in front of people since—oh, he had forgotten—everything was forgotten every time this person was near to him.

He loved him too much.

_He would be the end of me one day,_ he had once thought.

Silence reigned. No one dared to move—even Maylene had almost forgotten how to _breathe_. Even the birds, the wind and the rustles of leaves had hushed—or so Ciel would like to think. It was not like one of those movies Elizabeth so aptly loved. Nothing that happened in real life was anything like in the movies. He never believed in that.

He stretched out his hand, to see if, indeed, he was the real thing—maybe the scenes in the movies were rubbing off on him. He would have to ask Elizabeth one of these days to stop sending him copies of romantic-comedy films. (Couples laughing while chasing each other at the shore beneath the sunset was something Ciel considered as overly-dramatic; the same also goes to couples greeting each other with smiles while the harp is being heard in the distance as soft lights and bubbles flowed around them.)

That pale hand that he wanted to touch for so, so _long—_even the length of his arm was now longer!—reached out in response—and ah!—the scenes in the movies might be real, after all!

"Sebastian, dear?"

...What.

"...What?"

From a distance, Ciel could hear a large glass crashing to the ground somewhere—it must be in the depths of his mind, he mused.

That pale hand stopped reaching out to him—_No_—and it returned to its previous position—back to his side—

—Where a woman was clutching at his arm. At _his_ Sebastian's arm.

"Why is she here?" was the first question that Ciel blurted out—as soon as the sounds of glass crashing somewhere in the distance faded from his ears.

Nonetheless, it was also the same question that the students dared to ask—mostly from the females.

There, clutching the arm that Ciel had once clutched, was Beatrice Lorum.

His blue and red eyes widened as he stared at that—_filthy, undeserving, lecherous excuse for a woman!_—ivory-hued hand, at those candle-like fingers, his mouth agape as he mouthed the words that he never wanted to say.

"Explain yourself, Sebastian."

* * *

_"And when if eternal sorrow is within us,_

_That continues to enclose us in the void_

_You can hold me, as we wait for the dawn_

_Someday, I wonder if we can forgive each other,_

_Even our never-mended scars._

_And since that day, please continue to smile like that._

—A Midsummer Night's Dream, Suga Shikao

* * *

Yeah, explain yourself, Sebastian. D: (I really need to update Contract.) And hoorah! Arthur Conan Doyle appears! Gawd, I love his character. He reminds me of Matsuda sometimes. :o Next up, a glimpse of what had happened between Charles Grey and Hannah in the past year. Oh, and more of Victoria. Yeah. D:


	21. Cupido, Longing

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_She wanted to be in Ciel's place._

**DISCLAIMER: **Meh. :O

* * *

The tension was heavy in the air, the birds seemed to stop their joyful melodies, their beady little eyes blinked and their little feet hopped on the tree branches as they tilted their heads at the scene below their beaks. The crowd had dispersed even for just a moment, enough to give a decent space to breathe and enough space to listen to the drama that was yet to come. Grell trotted to see the scene just a few moments after he saw Beatrice wrapping her arm around Sebastian.

Oh, the oozing envy that dripped from within Grell's forest green eyes!

His manicured and nimble hand made a move to his handbag—eyes still fixated upon that breakable arm and mind still dripping with jealousy—and took out his camera, it had the color of the reddest of the red. With it, he can take multiple pictures of the now _manly_ Sebastian—_When was he _not_ manly?_—and maybe he can—

"—Take your hand away from me, Lorum."

_Oh, and even his voice got deeper within a year! Oh, how _delicious_!_

Sebastian's words were said with much restraint, that much Grell and Maylene could tell from their points of view; over the sound of the hurried whispers and gasps, the words were barely heard by Grell.

_Oh, this will be a _huge_ scoop!_

The tiniest bit of movement from Ciel had all of the students' eyes shift from Beatrice to the little Phantomhive heir.

Sebastian opened his mouth to speak once again. His mouth clamped shut as soon as he saw Ciel frown.

It was not the reunion that he had planned in his mind.

Those red and blue eyes dimmed, shadowing the sadness that Ciel Phantomhive hid from the world.

He waited for seven months for this day to come, for him to see what had become of the one he loved. A woman—whom he very much disliked since he first laid his eyes on her—clinging onto the arm of his beloved, was something that he never thought could possibly happen.

And yet it did.

The slim fingers that were wrapped around Sebastian's arm retreated as soon as Ciel laid his hollow and sleepless eyes on her. She bowed and fumbled with her fingers as she bit her lip and looked at the dirt on her stilettos—she must be embarrassed, Ciel mused dryly. The sound of the harsh whispers slowly escalating from around them only put Ciel at ease. He seemed to love seeing her squirm.

Sebastian stood stiffly, his hands lying adjacent at his sides and his back straightened like a pole, as he stared at Ciel with barely concealed longing in his eyes—his face remained as pale as the newly fallen snow, and his eyes were wide and glossed in the sun; his mouth opened and closed as he jumbled incoherent words out of his chapped lips.

His arm stretched out then, his spidery fingers grasping at the air that they breathed.

The sands of time slowed, it seemed, as Ciel bridged the gap with tiny steps—closer towards the outstretched hand of Sebastian. He was tall—still tall, _too _tall, in fact—for Ciel. But he paid it no mind as he continued to walk awkwardly towards that hand that he longed to touch once again.

Their fingertips met.

And that was all it took for Ciel to embrace Sebastian with a joyful cry.

Several people gasped—some students, the females, mostly (and also a few males), nodded with a tear on their ruddy cheeks, some covered their mouths and felt their hearts wrench as they looked at the unfolding scene before them—all touched by the appearance of Ciel Phantomhive's smile. It had been far too long since he last curled his lips into a real smile.

Beatrice immediately took a step back, face contorted in an expression of anguish as she looked at Sebastian's smiling face. He never once expressed a tiniest twitch of a grin during his days inside the Geulph manor—she knew all too well _why._ He never smiled even at the times when his foster brother was at home; he would only nod and frown, and would pass by him with a slump of shoulders. She had already started to think of him as a slab of stone—forever having sunken mismatched eyes and a solemn countenance—all from the pain of being ripped away from the one he loved the most.

She was wrong, she concluded—as she finally saw those pale lips smile once more, a smile she saw once, a smile she once held dear to her heart. It was too bad that her love would never be returned—if anyone could call her emotion _love_—she was attracted to his appearance, and to his charm, and to his developing baritone timbres and to his unattached gentleness for anyone that is not Ciel. Perhaps—perhaps—

—perhaps she had been wishing she was Ciel, after all this time.

Ah.

So that's what it was.

That feeling of unease that flowed and ebbed at the pits of her belly that slowly ate her away ever since she first laid her eyes on Ciel and Sebastian.

It was jealousy, she supposed—along with a little sprinkle of sadness and longing to have someone as loyal as Sebastian—someone who will accept her as she was; someone who won't judge her based on the origins of her birth.

She wanted to be in Ciel's place, just once would be enough.

The seeds of envy had made their way to Beatrice's heart since the day she saw Ciel and Sebastian sitting together under a willow tree in the school grounds—they had laughed and joked and shared their meals together beneath the embrace of the foliage and the sunlight—she wished she was in Ciel's place, even just once; she wanted to feel how it was like to laugh with someone, to share dreams with someone, to protect someone other than her own kin.

Other than that, she wanted to be friends with the right people (someone who wouldn't spread lies and rumours behind her back, as she was used to hearing everyday), the kind of people who wouldn't take advantage of her. It didn't help matters, though, that she, unfortunately, landed on Ciel's bad side on their first meeting. She still thinks—up until now—that she had done nothing wrong to warrant such hate from the boy.

She had tried to approach them, then, to say her greetings, and maybe—just maybe—she could have the chance to sit with them—_And to ask what it's like to feel loved_.

She knew it was impossible, though. Ciel was there—and Sebastian's attention had always been on Ciel and on Ciel alone. She would never stand a chance against Ciel Phantomhive. Nevertheless, she tried.

She had only taken a few steps towards her goal, she had heard their merry chattering that day, their laughs—and Beatrice couldn't help but to smile.

She was about to wave her hand, then, an effort to get her noticed, somehow, and was about to holler their names, when she had stopped as she heard three distinct words from Sebastian's pale lips—

"_I love you, Ciel._"

Beatrice had stopped in her tracks that day, and she retreated slowly, as to not disturb them and their shared moment of peace—those three little words echoed in her mind, and continued to do so up to this day—she had gone home early that day, ignoring Victoria's questions, and locked herself in her room, a pillow clutched to her bosom.

_"I want someone to say that to me, too."  
_  
As she looked at Sebastian now, she knew—as much as it pained her so—that she could never win over Ciel, the much adored student of Victoria's Guardian Academy.

What made Ciel Phantomhive so loved and cherished by the students? Especially by Sebastian? Is it because of his family's wealth? Is it because his father owns the Academy? His innocent charm? His looks? His loyalty to love only Sebastian?

She shook her head, blinking the unshed tears away. It would do her no good to cry over someone who wouldn't even glance her way. She liked him in a way, she supposed—at least, that's what she thought.

She turned away from the scene, face twitching into a grimace as she looked at the ground—she could hear the rushed yet noisy jeers from behind her, the laughter piercing her bitty ears—she bit her lip, and she did the only thing that she could do in situations such as these—she ran.

Away from the crowd and the laughter and the happily reunited couple, she ran—her legs dragging her to the Academy's gates—into the statuesque form of one Claude Faustus.

"Her Highness?"

Upon hearing her (very much hated) title, she looked up, her eyes drawn into the golden pools of the Guelph butler.

There was a deafening silence—they were far from the throngs of students—and Claude felt fine with the little woman leaning onto his chest.

He couldn't love, after all—at least, it was what he had drilled in his mind since his stay in the Guelph manor.

They stood there for quite some time, Beatrice awkwardly leaning her forehead on Claude—hiccuping and crying at he same time—while Claude just stood there, his face filled with apathy as he looked at the huddled groups of students, each crying with a cry of joy. Claude's eyebrow rose. What was it that caused such a commotion?

Beatrice continued to bawl at his uniform—he frowned. He hated tear stains on his person.

His foot moved an inch, Beatrice stopped crying, and he looked at the tall man—he was still taller than Sebastian, she concluded—and no, she was not comparing them who was more charismatic.

Claude finally moved away from Beatrice, his eyes seemingly determined to see what the fuss was about.

He lightly pushed her away, and moved to the source of noise, abandoning Beatrice completely. He didn't listen to her pleas and cries of calling his name with desperation. How unlike him.

He moved towards the masses of students, pushing through each student without an apology. Some called him rude, some glared at the back of his head—he ignored them all—all for the sake to satisfy his curiosity on the mysterious identity of the girl who had caught Sebastian's heart.

There had already been rumours floating around the Guelph manor—all told by Victoria herself—that the aloof Sebastian Michaelis had fallen in love with a _boy._ He never believed that. It was nothing but a tasteless—not to mention rude—joke.

Claude snorted with a smirk. Victoria could have made a better joke, one that wouldn't involve her hatred for homosexuality. He knew she hated them with a passion—he blamed her husband for it. A well-respected man, _died _because of the shame of having relations with his fellow soldier. His Highness Albert killed himself on the battlefield, from shame and guilt, he supposed—if memory serves—and left a letter for his wife to read. The letter served as a medium to know the reason behind her husband's death—

—It tore her apart.

And it was the start of the hatred for the people who love their own gender with a forbidden passion.

Claude let out a sigh as he finally managed to make his way to the front, ignoring the glares of the people he had pushed just to get a glance of the girl.

He never believed Victoria.

Until now.

There, in the middle of the crowd, smiling and laughing along with the students (and some professors), was Sebastian, all jolly and all smiles as he kissed the (assumed) girl at the top of her head (Sebastian had to lean forward, as the girl was half his height), both of their arms looped around each other's waists as though it was the most normal thing in the world—her back facing him.

Claude smirked. See? It really was a girl. No doubt in that. He breathed a sigh of relief and was about to call Sebastian to get back home when the girl turned around.

He gaped.

It was _not _a girl.

Small hips, slender yet shapely legs, moonlight skin, blue-grey hair that shone in the sunlight, thin shoulders that showed a little amount of collarbone from the uniform he wore, a heart-shaped face with a dust of pink on rounded cheeks—

—and that voice.

It was the voice that did him.

The voice was light, a high-pitched laugh with the beginnings of a would-be voice of a boy growing into a teenager. He had to strain his ears to hear a certain timbre in that voice that would resemble a boy in the claws of puberty.

The boy—who was definitely not a girl, Claude thought with a surprised face—looked at the crowd, still with that blinding smile on his face, and Claude looked at those eyes and—

They were mismatched. _Very _much mismatched. Just like—

"Claude? What are you doing here?"

He snapped out of his reverie, his eyes blinking and looking straight at Sebastian's red and blue eyes. He stared at those pools of red and blue. He ignored the fact on how Sebastian found him among the crowd. He assumed it was the uniform that did it.

He stared—and drowned himself—into those ruby and sapphire depths.

They look like those of the boy's eyes.

"Your grace," he began, he was not about to look surprised now. "Miss Beatrice is waiting for you in the car," he said matter-of-factly, still looking at him with a carefully-masked apathy carved on his face.

He was not fazed when Sebastian's reply was a simple raising of an elegant eyebrow and a clenched fist, along with a single word of utterance, "So?"

Claude debated within himself if he could squish that face filled with pride without attracting the students' attention.

"Sebastian? Who is he?"

Honey-hued eyes drifted towards the speaker, his eyebrows slightly furrowing as he stared at those wide eyes. The boy's hand clutched tightly on Sebastian's as he looked at Claude; he peeked from the taller man's back.

"Oh. It's nothing to be feared about, Ciel. He's just a footman," Sebastian replied with a wide smile, his eyes dancing with mirth as he sneered at Claude.

_That arrogant little mischief!  
_  
Claude closed his eyes, fighting the urge to twitch his eyebrows—a show of emotion on his face would mean Sebastian's ultimate victory.

"He reminds me of someone," he heard Ciel—as what Claude assumed—say. He must admit, the boy's voice sounded like the soft tunes of pianissimo to his ears.

Claude opened his eyes once more—ignoring the flash of what he assumed was from a camera; someone randomly taking a picture of him did not amuse him the slightest—and spoke once again.

"It's about time to go home, Your grace," was what he simply said instead. Truly, this _boy _never failed to give him headaches on a daily basis.

"And what if I don't want to?" Sebastian retorted as he smiled—haughtily—and regarded the amused and shocked looks of the students and professors around him.

Claude took a step forward, arms lying stiffly on his sides, eyebrows meeting together as he _almost _seethed.

"Well, I'll just have to take you by force, the—"

"You can't make him!"

All eyes zoomed in on the speaker, it was Ciel, who had abandoned the safety and warmth of Sebastian's back, his cheeks reddened from his sudden outburst—and no, he did not feel ashamed of blurting out words like that.

"You have to go through me first," he bravely proclaimed, earning the gasps of the females and the widened eyes of the males. Never had they seen the composed and calm Ciel Phantomhive go in a flurry of determination.

Love really has no boundaries, Maylene thought with a nod.

"What if I don't want to go through you first? What if I want to drag your _male _friend with me? Hm?"

Some scoffed, the others twitched their faces in shock, while the others muttered words of hate for disrespecting for The Little King—as he was dubbed in the Academy. Nina and some of the female students, who were among the watchers from the crowd, moved forward, waiting the opportunity to lunge at Claude should he do something that would endanger Ciel's well-being.

"Don't you _dare _use that condescending tone on him, Faustus," threatened Sebastian, his ears turning red from irritation upon hearing Claude's words laced with double-entendre. No. He wouldn't let Ciel hear such degrading and filthy words. Ciel would remain innocent and untainted for as long as he lived. Sebastian looked at Ciel, who was looking quite puzzled—no doubt from his sudden outburst—and he was quite sure that his beloved friend didn't understand the real meaning behind Claude's words.

"Oh, I apologize, Your grace," Claude simply said with a slight bow, mocking the black-haired male with a smile that irked Sebastian to the bone.

There was a scuffle from one of the onlookers, muttering squeaky and rushed words of apology as some students made way to let a man through the crowd.

The man puffed a few huffs of precious air as he bended his knees, hands leaning on his thighs as he breathed. Claude looked at the man—who became a source of distraction for some students—his eyebrows raising as the man in a brown coat straightened himself and fixed his hair with his hands, and made his way to the three of them.

"Good day to you, gentlemen," he began as he straightened his already straightened green necktie. He gulped as some of the students whispered among themselves.

"Mister Michaelis, I see you have returned!" he exclaimed with a smile shook hands with the tall teen. Sebastian returned the smile, earning a few sighs from the female students and professors alike, "Yes. I have returned home, Professor Doyle. It's good to see you and the Academy again."

Claude watched the exchange with a piercing gaze, eyes boring to a back of a brown mop of hair. He wanted to tap his foot in impatience—and for interrupting their conversation—but fought against it—it would look unprofessional, he thought so with a frown.

For a moment, he let his eyes wander at Ciel's petite form, his mind devouring every single inch of the pale, moonlight-blessed skin, those seemingly succulent petal pink lips that almost _begged _to be kissed—and those slim, candle-like fingers that would look good on his—

"Well then," he heard the man once again—his nervous voice was starting to grate on Claude's nerves—snapping him out of his unmentionable fantasy, "Let's go inside the office, shall we? Um, because, you see," he paused, and he scratched his nape in what Sebastian assumed was from embarrassment.

"We're attracting too much attention," he finished with a sheepish smile.

Claude, along with Sebastian and Ciel, looked around them, and truthfully, there were _still_ curious and inquisitive eyes staring at them—some smiling at the unfolding drama, some giggling, while someone _still _takes pictures of them with that annoying flash of that damned camera.

Claude scoffed. _Gossip mongers. _

It was then that Ciel beamed at the man and he giggled, his arm still wrapped around Sebastian's wrist, oblivious to the man who was trying to eat him whole with his stare, "Alright, professor." He tugged Sebastian along while he nodded at Claude with an surprisingly stern gaze, a silent command to follow them.

Claude felt a shiver run down his spine, and unbeknownst to himself, he nodded and followed them—ignoring the pitiful whines of the female (and some male) students, complaining that their little source of entertainment was over. There was something in the boy that screamed respect and demanded authority, for he usually doesn't obey people whom he don't personally know.

Sebastian watched Claude at the corner of his eye, checking to see any movement that he wouldn't approve of, especially if he would make a move to touch Ciel. He painfully learned over time that some people—mostly the men—have this disgusting habit of touching or fantasizing Ciel with their eyes or their hands. And every time it happens, Sebastian would be there to—literally—pull him close and to tell them he's already taken (and no, he was _not _shy whenever he tells them so, much to Ciel's embarrassment). It was hard to have such a cute and loving bride (he never failed to think of him other than his bride), but it was all worth it in the end.

Sure, they wouldn't have babies as normal couples would (_What_ is _normal, anyway?_), but at least he'd have a nice, cute bride to be with! That's what it matters, right?

_Right. _

He smiled to himself as he pulled Ciel closer to his skin, the smaller teen complying to the touch.

He looked back at Claude with a solemn and hollowed gaze—he knew that certain spark in the butler's eyes, and he never liked it—and when he smiled, he mouthed—

"_He's mine." _

Claude's eyebrow raised as he remained where he stood—the students slowly dispersing now that their temporary source of entertainment was over—and he huffed. His feet moved forward as he followed them, his lips twitching upwards in a smirk as Sebastian turned away from him.

_Really._

He watched as Ciel talked to Sebastian animatedly, their laughter—and cries of apology—echoing in the school grounds.

He looked at those plump lips once again, his eyes trailing down to Ciel's pert, round bottom.

Claude licked his lips and his hands itched to touch the boy.

_Are you challenging me, Your grace?_

* * *

Beatrice looked at her fingertips idly, as she waited for Claude and Sebastian to return. After the butler left her standing there for quite some time (she could only ask _why_), she decided to just wait inside the car until they come back.

She looked at the window for something to amuse her with, half expecting for the two men to appear at the gates. But what she was not expecting was who passed by the Academy's gates.

It was that Gleeman boy, all dressed up in his uniform (she definitely did _not _think he was handsome), and he appeared to be looking for something, judging from his eyes hastily darting from left to right. His eyes then stopped darting from one direction to another, and she could swear he was looking straight at the car she was in.

It was impossible. It was probably just a chance that he looked at the car's general direction, seeing as it was the only vehicle around. And no, that was not him running towards the car's general direction. And it was definitely _not _the sound of her beating heart that she was hearing.

Wait.

_Why_ was she being flustered over a guy who she deemed as a pervert? Moreover, _why_ was the air starting to suffocate her?

She felt her poor heart malfunctioning as Jester's running form run towards her, she prayed that he would pass by the car—but no—instead, he jogged his way towards where she sat. _How did he know I was here?_

She bit her lip, he rapidly tapped his hand on the window of the car—_The window's tinted! How did he know?_—smiling all the while.

She fought with her inner self as the rapping on the window got louder to her ear, and without meaning to, she pressed the button to slide down the glass. Jester stopped tapping. And he beamed at her.

Beatrice immediately regretted her decision.

"Hey, Beast!"

She knew she blamed that smile. She blamed him. She was supposed to be bethrothed to Sebastian. She was not about to let go now just because—

"I missed ya, you know!"

Her copper eyes widened. Beatrice Lorum felt the air leave her lungs upon hearing those five words.

_Why did I open the window again?_

* * *

A soft sound of someone humming and dusting the furniture echoed in the room. The gentle hush of cloth was heard as she moved about. The monotone clopping of her footfalls served as her companion in the silent hallway.

It had been almost a year since Guelph asked Hannah about that unexpected—and not to mention life-changing—question.

To be Charles Grey's fianceé. It was a dream that she had longed for ever since she was a little girl. When she was young, she had dreamed that she would be the most beautiful bride all for Charles. She would remain loyal and faithful to him until she died—a trait that had never vanished within her actions and her mind for as long as she could remember. And most of all, she dreamed she would always remain beautiful for Charles, so that "he wouldn't have any reason to look at another girl's face," those were her words back then.

But then, her beauty was lost and stolen on that day on that year—all because of Victoria Guelph.

She wiped the glass windows on the halls with a slightly dirtied cloth, humming a sad lullaby despite seeing her reflection through the glass. It unnerved her. Seeing her face made her feel worthless—no matter how much consoling her dear Charles had said to her.

She wiped a tear from her right eye. Pitying herself would do no good, she knew that. But still...

"_You could have lived like a queen if only you had said 'yes'! You could have been Charles' wife!"_

Victoria's words rang loud and clear in her mind, tearing her apart as she looked at the bluebells through the window. It had been almost a year since she made that decision—and she never regretted it. She loved Charles, yes, she loved him with all of her shattered heart, but she knew that he would never love her as much as he loved—

—Oh.

She needed to breathe.

She needed to calm herself.

With a soft grunt, Hannah finished her chores with haste and with trembling hands. She wiped another tear that grazed her cheek as she passed by the mirror on the wall in the hallway, ignoring the scar that marred her left eye and cheek, and with a deep sigh, she went to the gardens to tend to her favorite blue bells.

It was her only way she could think of to prevent herself from breaking down.

She watered the flowers with a sad smile forever etched on her bronzed face. She glared at the sun, and silently thought of situations that "what could have been". She hicupped as she pulled out some weeds from one of the rose bushes. She sniffled and wiped another tear from her cheek as she stood up and went from flower bed to flower bed, unknowing of the pair of eyes that looked at her from afar.

* * *

_She is beautiful,_ she thought as she looked at the sad look on Hannah's face. It seemed to be her only expression these days, and she knew very well why.

With a huff, Victoria walked away from the gardens, humming a tune to herself.

_Too bad she's daft for not accepting my generous offer. She would have made such a perfect wife for my Charles._

* * *

"...So, I take it you have made the decision to return to the Academy for good?"

He was met with silence.

Professor Arthur Doyle was very well aware of the events that had transpired between the President's son and his friend since the past year. One way of knowing it is through the club that Maylene had established in the Academy; another is through the high school principal and the college department's dean, Lau Wuneng. It seemed that whatever information that involved Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian Michaelis, the student body and the faculty seemed to be very much alert, all ears and eyes trained upon the males' current situation.

If only he knew _why._

"I plan to," was what Sebastian said with a smile after a long moment of silence. He nodded gravely after his smile dropped as though it were the the most important decision in his young life—_and maybe it is._

Arthur blinked, taken aback by the determination in the 15-year-old's gaze. He looked at the Preseident's only son, a pair of mismatched eyes that matched Sebastian's stared at him, bearing the same determination that the other male had.

_Oh._

A little curve tugged at the corner of his lips as Arthur leant back on his chair, a satisfied smile painted across his face as he spoke, "All right. You can return. All we have to do is to ask the President. I know he'll say it's fine." There. He said it.

Arthur Doyle wanted to see for himself, the person who had laid claim over Ciel Phantomhive. How could he revert the now gloomy child (he still referred Ciel as such, even as a teenager) back to a face of smiles and laughs?

He wanted to see how Sebastian Michaelis would do it.

And those two hands that were discreetly linked together beneath the desk was one of the proofs that Sebastian can make the sullen child return to the carefree and joyful cherub the Academy had grew to love.

"I beg your pardon, good sir. But he's not supposed to be here."

The professor's smile dropped to a frown. His thoughts, on how the students would react once the Moonlight Couple (as they were aptly dubbed in the Academy) would grace the school grounds with their presence once again, were ruined, as he looked at the man who sat beside Ciel.

He had forgotten that that man was with them.

Arthur's brows furrowed as he tapped his index finger once on the cherry wood desk, "And why is that?"

The butler, who sat with his back rigid on the chair and his face filled with apathy, rearranged his rectangular-rimmed eyeglasses with the tip of his left index finger, saffron eyes searing into Arthur's face.

"Because he's not allowed to be here," was what he simply uttered with a little twitch on his right eye. The man clad in the brown coat raised an eyebrow, silently waiting for an explanation. The servant only eyed Sebastian from where he sat as he harrumphed softly.

Arthur leaned back, eyeing Claude with a calm gaze and rigid shoulders, "And he's not allowed here because...?"

The butler averted his eyes from the tutor, noting to self that explaining would only be futile.

After a pregnant pause from both sides, the professor, unconsciously, clenched his jaw, his gesture not escaping Sebastian and Ciel's observant eyes. Their fingers tightened their hold on each other's hands.

"Well then, we can't have that," he said as he looked at Claude with what Sebastian might assume as self-control, as he himself was used to feeling whenever and wherever Claude would pop out in the Guelph house.

Claude fixated his golden eyes at Arthur once more, his teeth baring just the smallest hint of teeth beneath chapped lips.

"You can have that. He's not supposed to be here."

"And that is why I am asking you _why._"

The unspoken words that were written in the butler and professor's eyes spoke volumes than their vague answers and questions, and in made Ciel uncomfortable as he squirmed in his seat. He quietly tugged on Sebastian's black shirt, mumbling something incoherent as he buried his face on his shoulder. It puzzled the taller male, and, assuming that Ciel might be feeling uneasy because of the situation, he simply patted his hand twice, to which Ciel took as a sign that he didn't quite understood what he really wanted to say.

He squirmed in his seat more and inched closer to Sebastian, earning a look from Claude (which Sebastian dismissed with a glare), and before Sebastian could voice his concern to Ciel, the little teen finally spoke up.

"—ee."

The pale teen blinked, "I'm sorry. What?"

This time, Ciel looked at him and—were those tears in his eyes?

"...I need to pee—"

Arthur overheard the last word, and, without breaking any eye contact on Claude, he spoke, "Go ahead, Ciel. Sebastian, please accompany him." Claude retorted at the professor, fist clenching as he looked at Sebastian, "No. You're staying here—"

"I believe you're not in the position to order me around, Claude."

"And I believe he's very well capable of finding the loo by himself!"

Arthur looked at him with raised eyebrows and an open mouth, Ciel hid behind Sebastian, clutching onto his arm and shirt, like old times, and Sebastian laughed through his nose, "We're not in the manor, Faustus. And I don't want my dear bride to be caught in those strings of students outside. _Someone_ might take him away." And with that, he nudged Ciel to the door, the latter still clinging onto him. Right before Sebastian closed the door, he smiled at a fuming Claude.

"Oh. And no one uses _loo_ nowadays. You do know that, right?"

Sebastian shut the door with a smirk. Arthur laughed.

* * *

"Done!"

Sebastian turned around and looked at his beloved friend, smiling as he watched him go towards the sink to wash his hands. He embraced him as he looked at their reflection, and Ciel blinked as he turned off the faucet. "What is it?" he asked.

"I have an idea," whispered Sebastian.

Ciel's eyes brightened up as he beamed at Sebastian. Every time he says those words, something _fun_ always happens. _Always._

"What is it?" he asked again excitedly, jumping at the balls of his feet as he turned around, still in Sebastian's embrace. He hastily apologized for making his shirt wet with the stray droplets of water.

Sebastian's reply was a little laugh and a wink as he poised his pointer finger on Ciel's warm lips.

"You'll see."

* * *

Claude walked down the halls in haste, ignoring the stares and whispers that he knew well were directed at him.

"_That's the man that tried to separate The Raven and his Bride!"_

"_Really? Hey, Grell, get the camera! Lady May will love this!"_

"_This morning, I heard he tried to make a pass on Ciel! How lecherous of him!"_

"_I heard he's that old bag's dog!"_

"_Never mind that, I heard he made out with Bo in front of the gates!"_

"_No. Way. That Beast?"_

He stopped listening altogether—noting that he needed to know why people were referring the Phantomhive child as, "The Raven's Bride"—as he looked at the signs on the walls, finding a way to look for the nearest toilet. He turned at a corner and found one. He had been looking for a toilet for about ten minutes since he left Arthur in his office. The man was adamant about letting Sebastian stay in the Academy again. He decided it was for the best if he would just excuse himself, in order to stop his hands from flying to the professor's neck.

He entered one of the cubicles, and, seeing no one was there (of course), he opened the next cubicle, and the next, and the next, until he got to the last one. Perplexed, Claude stopped to think that something was quite off with one of the cubicles. He checked them again, one by one—and there.

In one of the covers of the toilet, were smudges of dirt that were quite distinct in Claude's eyes, they were in the shape of two, different-sized shoe soles.

His eyes narrowed, his fists clenched as realization dawned upon him. He clenched his fist as he, too, stood on top of the toilet, his height proving quite advantageous as he peeked from the narrow window, and, while he tried to look around for any signs of his charge and his friend, he accidentally stepped on a sticky surface and fell.

Needless to say, it was quite an amusing sight.

Claude was sprawled on the floor, his eyeglasses askew on his face, his feet hanging above the toilet as one of his shoes slipped and landed on the trash bin. The air suddenly smelt of honey-scented handwash.

It must be what he had slipped onto.

"...Those imps."

* * *

"I told you it would be funny!"

"I bet he didn't know about the soap!"

They laughed as they ran down the seemingly endless roads and towards a familiar destination, one that Ciel knew by heart. Nevertheless, he still asked his companion.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he panted for breath. They had been running for a good half an hour or so, and judging from the position of the sun, it was now midday.

"We're going home!" was what Sebastian happily said, feeling much like a child again. His memories were in London, his loved ones were in London, his life was in London, and he would never let anyone take that away from him again. He didn't (reluctantly) take up that military training for a year for nothing!

And to go home they went. Home to the familiar scents of the falling leaves and potpourris and the smells of cakes and pastries as they passed by. Sebastian missed them.

And most of all, he missed Ciel.

The sounds of jovial laughs and heart-warming cries of joy filled him with bliss. They ran down the familiar paths that Sebastian used to take, inhaling the scent of London air with a wide smile. He missed everything in London.

It was almost sundown when they got to their hideout, as what Sebastian had said before he (reluctantly) left. They had trotted down the streets, laughing towards any passersby with a smile and a friendly wave before running off to jump and crunch the wilted leaves beneath their feet. They had eaten a shared ice cream cone at one point (it was strawberry-flavored), saying that Ciel got tired after running for a long period of time. Sebastian complied and they had sat down by a tree, showering them with golden and earth-dyed leaves.

They crawled their way towards the handmade tunnel that Sebastian made all those years ago. Up until now, it still astounded Ciel that Sebastian's six-year-old self would be able to build a tunnel using only his bitty fingers and some garden stones he had found littered about the Phantomhive manor. Ciel had asked the taller male about his motive behind building such a passageway, he said it was his way of coming to him whenever Ciel would be "in a pinch". The little teen nodded and laughed, accepting Sebastian's explanation with a smile.

"That tunnel needs to be renovated, I think," said Ciel as they left the narrow way they went through. He dusted the dirt on his uniform and wiped the stray leaf that managed to land on Ciel's cheek. Sebastian laughed as he, too, dusted his now stained pants and shirt. He agreed on Ciel's suggestion, saying that it was all he could do at that time, the little size of the tunnel, that is.

"I was only six at that time, Ciel."

"Well, now that you're taller, I think you can make a larger tunnel, right?"

"Demanding as ever, I see."

They laughed.

They held hands and walked over towards the rose bushes, it was a sign that the Phantomhive gardens were nearby, and Sebastian's heart beat faster. It was nostalgia, he supposed.

They sat down the cherry tree that Sebastian remembered all too well. Its leaves were starting to fall, creating a blanket of multi-colored foliage beneath its roots, and Ciel was all too happy to drag him towards the fallen leaves, crunching and rolling on the paper-thin foliage as Sebastian sat, watching him with a content smile.

It was after a few minutes that Ciel grew tired of rolling on the leaves alone, and decided to calmly sit beside Sebastian with that wide smile never leaving his boyish face, ignoring the various leaves that were now sticking out from his disheveled hair.

Lots of questions raced through the little Phantomhive's mind as he felt his heart calming a bit, assuring himself that Sebastian would not leave him alone.

He leant his head on his shoulder, Sebastian brushed away those stray leaves on that petite head, and kissed Ciel's hair, loving the way the scent of earth got mixed in with Ciel's perfume.

"...Sebastian?"

"Hm?"

Silence.

"...Yes, Ciel?"

"Don't leave me again, please."

"I won't."

Sebastian said his promises, kissing Ciel at the top of his head or on his nose with each word. Ciel voiced his concerns, the biggest one being, "Why are you with Lorum?" The black-haired male knew he would have a lot of explaining to do when it comes to matters regarding that woman, and he flinched when Ciel narrowed his eyes every time he mentioned her.

_Why do I feel like this is what cheating husbands feel like?_

"I'll explain it to you later, Ciel," was what he answered after feeling being tortured by Ciel's searing gaze. He knew he was angry upon seeing the girl; and he was not surprised to see Ciel fuming, saying something about "that woman should reduce that chest of hers to a width of a board". Sebastian laughed. So his dear, sweet and adorable Ciel was jealous over a woman and her unnecessarily huge size of a chest? He didn't even take a glance at her for the past year—on her chest and her curves, that is.

"How about we go to your place?" he inquired, seemingly keen on changing the subject. The earlier they can go to the Phantomhive estate, the earlier he can go to bed with Ciel, like old times, the earlier he can talk and explain to him, the better.

Ciel agreed, and he brought him home.

"Mother! Father! Guess who's back!" he cried as he opened the wide doors to the manor. Ronald and the rest of the servants greeted their young lord, Rachel and Vincent followed suit as soon as they heard their son's voice.

"Ciel! Where have you been? We've been waiting for you. Lau called saying you were with a friend and—"

Whatever words Rachel had died on her lips as her gaze fell on a familiar and yet unfamiliar figure beside her son.

"I'm back, Missus Rachel. Mister Vincent, sir."

And Ciel held Sebastian's hand still with happiness as Rachel hugged her—almost—second son.

* * *

"You lost him?"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, I—"

Slap.

"Insolent _fool._ You let him escape! And with that queer boy!"

"Grandmother, it was not his fault, I—"

Slap!

"Silence, you wretch!"

Beatrice fell on the carpeted floor, hiding tears of shame and guilt. Claude was on the floor, kneeling on one knee with a marred cheek from the abuse.

It was then and there that Claude decided that he should never listen and obey the words of that Michaelis child.

Obeying Sebastian would be his downfall, after all.

* * *

"...So you were forced to be that thing's fiancé, is that it? And that you don't actually mean it when you got yourself tangled in all that marriage mess?"

"I'm amazed how you're referring to Lorum as a 'thing', but yes, I was forced into it."

"Oh. Well then, I believe you. That's the only thing that's been troubling me since this morning."

"I'm glad things cleared up, eh, Ciel?"

"Yup. Well, no, not really. Now go to sleep. You still have some things to explain to me tomorrow."

"But you have classes—"

"Oh, bollocks. I can live if I don't go to class for just a day. It's not like I'll die if I'll absent even just once."

"My dear Ciel is turning rebellious."

"I'm not."

And under the thick and soft coverlets they slept, smiles painted upon their youthful faces as dreams of flowers and autumn and falling leaves and certain someones filled their minds.

It had been far too long since they slept peacefully.

* * *

From outside the door to Ciel's room, William watched with a rare smile as he closed the door with a silent click.

_Welcome back, Master Sebastian._

* * *

"_Should there come a time that my only wish would come true,_

_I would like to meet you someday_

_And often I'd dream to see a big future ahead of us,_

_I would continue to dream.__"_

—Eve, Hidenori Tokuyama

* * *

...Um. This is the longest chapter I've ever done. _Ever. _Nine pages long? ^^;; Yeah, ideas flowed. XD


	22. Amoris Dolore, Painful Love

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_"...Hello, brother of mine."_

**DISCLAIMER: **Meh. :O

**A/N: **A huge shoutout to the people who have reviewed last chapter! You know who you are~ :3 Since I haven't replied to some of the reviews, no thanks to those final exams, I've decided to write another chapter—and this time, it's the final chapter. Yup. You read that right, I'm already writing the ending of the story, though the story itself is not yet finished. There's still... um... more chapters to go, that's for sure; but, the ending has already started, it's currently four pages long. So yeah. This is the first time I'm writing a story that I'm beginning at the ending when the plot is still in the process of being written. I guess I already visualized how this fiction of mine will end. :3 Happy reading!

Oh, and to kawaii hime-sama, if you're reading this, tell me if you're all right over there. I haven't heard from you lately. :o *le gasp* Long A/N is long. D:

* * *

Beatrice ate her breakfast without her usual enthusiasm, her taste buds seemingly quite numb as she took a bite of a melon bread on her plate. The events of yesterday filled her mind in a hasty blur, snapshots of Jester rushed to her mind's eye as she took a sip of her chamomile tea. Sulking would do her no good, she had said so to herself many times—and yet—

—she couldn't quite erase the words he had said to her—

_"I missed ya, you know!"_

She knew there was no meaning behind those words, it was probably uttered just to see what her reaction would be like—and she had fallen prey to his bony hands.

She shook her head, and finished her cup of tea with a sigh. Thinking about another man was cruel of her. She was to be with Sebastian!

Although...

_He doesn't love you, right? _

She sniffled and choked a sob that threatened to come out of her lips, noting that Hannah was within her eyesight. She shouldn't cry in front of a servant, it's too humiliating—at least, that's what she had been told.

Hannah watched silently as she saw her young mistress shed a tiny tear. There seemed to be a constant gap between them, one that surpasses the boundaries of a servant and mistress. It bothered her to an extent.

Nevertheless, she stood beside her, watching her, pitying her, and mourning her with her crumbling heart—for Hannah knew all too well what had caused her mistress to be in such a state of wreck.

It was the pain of unrequited love, she mused.

It was ironic, thought Hannah, that they, as _women_, had lost the love of their lives to _men._ It was saddening, to say the least. Part of her wanted to ask and cry for God's mercy upon the subject of such unfathomable acts of affection towards their own gender.

It was unfair, she had thought. She was a woman, and yet—

—she can't blame them—Charles Phipps and the little Phantomhive boy, that is.

She fumbled with her fingers as she watched Beatrice slowly nibbling away the melon bread on her now clammy hand, unmindful of the bits of crumbs sticking on the pads of her fingers. She had heard bits of pieces of information about the Phantomhive boy that Sebastian so dearly cherished—she heard about him through Sebastian himself. Hannah remembered how happy Sebastian looked every time he told her about his "dear bride", as what he dubbed Ciel. The 15-year-old held the innocence of a child, longing to be with someone for eternity, a life filled with rainbows and butterflies—

—his line of thinking had been the same as Hannah when she was five. And it took all her strength not to ruin Sebastian's dreams for him and Ciel.

_Life will never be as sweet as we hope to be._

She remembered how Sebastian would always follow her during her break hours in the gardens, and he would sit down with her beneath one of the willow trees and he would always smile and talk about flower wreaths and roses and cats, and after a few minutes, he would fish out a small picture of Ciel from his wallet and he would show it to her with a huge smile on his pale lips. The picture which held Ciel's azure and claret eyes would always look back at her with utmost glee and the purest of innocence, and her solemn violet blue eyes would always land on those tiny hands, Sebastian's hand holding Ciel's tightly.

She would always smile to herself, inwardly hoping for the best of the two children in the future.

Her precious Charles must have been like that too when he was a child, she supposed. Charles must have happily glided on the snow and on the gardens and on the meadows and on the seashore along with a stoic and silent Phipps, and he would smile and laugh and talk about things of nothing and everything to Phipps, and he would nod quietly and would look at him with a bit of a smile—and Hannah could only think of things of what could have been, had Phipps never gotten a hold of Charles on that day, had it been Hannah—and not Phipps—who was in the riverbank on that day, had it been her who had saved him from the brink of death. Had it been her who was by his side on that day—if it were, then surely, it would be—

—But no. Victoria was still in the picture, and she experienced things a child of five should not experience—all because she was not of "his rank", as she had said.

And now Beatrice was in her shoes, in a way—and she felt her pain.

_Oh, love._

* * *

"Sebastian! Hurry! I got all the pebbles you asked!"

"All right! Just let me get Tabitha."

Sebastian trotted along the crisp leaves of autumn, the sound of crunching foliage reached his slightly cold ears as he searched for his cat. It was a hard task that he had done on the day that he ran away from Claude in the school. Ciel and Ronald had helped him then; the little teen called him on his phone, because the task of fetching Ciel from school always landed on Ronald's shoulders instead of William's, something that the blond always pouted on (_"You're the butler and valet! I'm just a li'l gardener! Why do I have to do your job?"_). The gardener was the one who carried the baggage that had Tabitha in it—Ronald swore not to tell a soul about his return to anyone in the Phantomhive house, not until his return to the house itself—and Sebastian ran away with Ciel. It was difficult doing that, but it worked! At least, when they got home, Tabitha was safe and sound and she finally got to see Pluto again. The familiarity of animals and their scents was amazing, mused Sebastian. The cat and the dog still knew each other even after being separated for seven months, and it was all thanks to their sense of smell.

Ciel did not go to school today, as he said so last night, and Rachel and Vincent only laughed when Sebastian asked them if it was all right for their son to be absent in school. She had only patted his head and smiled, saying something about "youth should be enjoyed to the fullest". Sebastian had only blinked at her and nodded.

He got his cat, which was resting on the pile of leaves that Ronald so painstakingly set aside a few minutes ago, and ran back to Ciel. The gardener was taking a break, probably cleaning up his precious lawnmower, Sebastian thought with a smile.

It was a nice weather today in London, the sun was high, not too warm, the wind cooled on their faces, and the temperature was just right.

"Now, can we start?" asked Ciel. He was practically bouncing on his heels as he held up the smooth and round pebbles he had gotten from Angela this morning. The little stones were in a large grey bag, and Ciel, without waiting for Sebastian to answer, knelt and rummaged inside the bag, loving the sound of the shuffling pebbles in his hands. Sebastian laughed at Ciel's naïvety. He mapped out the things they need to rebuild the tunnel that connected the Phantomhive gardens to the Grey backyard.

"We need two shovels and two pickaxes, too, and some water—"

"And flashlights!"

Sebastian chuckled, "Yes, and flashlights. I'll do the work, you do the helping out, 'kay?"

"'Kay!"

* * *

"Surely you have an idea where they are?"

"_I wouldn't know. Claude has been ordered not to talk to me other than telling me what's the menu for the day. And Hannah—oh—well, that's a different issue. But! But if you do see them in London, please tell me! Grandmother won't even look at me and she snaps at every little thing since Sebastian ran away!"_

There was a pause at the other end of the line, and he made sure that a certain Russian woman's name will not be uttered again during their conversation.

"...Don't you think—No. It can't be. Can it?"

"_...Can it what?"_

"...Little Ciel."

"_...But I haven't seen him. Not since the day grandmother forced me to work here."_

"...That grandmother of yours had been doing nothing but to cause trouble to everyone around her since day one. It's starting to irritate me. I always hate it whenever you'd call her your '_grandmother_'. She's a far cry from my own family. At least they don't call me a queer."

"_Oh, come now, Charles. No matter what happens, she's still my grandmother—even if I'm starting to hate her."_

"A grandmother who doesn't even have a shred of respect for her own grandson is not deserving to be called by such a title. Or maybe you have forgotten that you almost slapped her? If it weren't for me, I'd say you would have been _disowned._"

"_Now, now, Charles, that's just—oh. I'll call you later, mega giga stony bricky-face is here. Bye!"_

The line went dead, and Phipps sighed as he turned off his phone. They had been doing this routine for quite some time since Charles was—forcibly—taken away from his original home. Charles would call him at exactly six o'clock, the time when the customers at the bakery would slowly recede and would lazily take their to-go orders and head home, and they would talk for about an hour before he would hang up. It happened every day, and Charles never failed to make his call. The responsibility of keeping the bakery fell onto his shoulders as soon as he knew that Charles would be away from London. It irked him. And he was all alone in this bakery, too! At least, every once in a while, William or Ronald would come by to help him on their days off. The four of them, Charles Grey included, became somewhat a bond of brothers over the years. He supposed it was because of the little boy that Charles' adoptive brother loved so much. He idly wondered why they didn't come over this month—work, he supposed.

He looked at the one of the framed pictures on the wall, the one with him and Charles in their younger days. He smiled to himself as he tidied up and closed the bakery for today, thinking about their recent conversation. Charles had never gotten over the habit of putting unnecessary adjectives on calling someone. He recalled that Charles had once called him, "the super ultra silent crocheting mini boy by the pine tree". That was on the day they met. He never forgot him since.

"...I wonder who's that 'mega giga stony bricky-face'."

* * *

"Ciel."

"Yes, mother?"

"...Where have you two been?"

A pause, and a giggle was heard from Ciel's tiny lips, "Oh, we um... We..." He bowed, and he fiddled with his fingers, a shy smile gracing his ruddy cheeks sprinkled with tiny smudges of dirt. Little leaves of gold and brown were stuck on his messy midnight blue hair, his jeans complemented his tousled locks, the denim smudged with bits of soil and hints of foliage.

"We built a secret hideout!"

Ciel stared at Sebastian, his mouth agape.

Rachel raised her fine eyebrows, her arms crossed as her lips quirked upwards, indicating a small smile from her carnation-hued lips, "...Really?" And she turned her sky-blessed eyes towards Ciel, her small smile now turning into a wide grin.

"Would you care to tell me where this 'secret hideout' is?" she asked with a tilt of her head towards her son, who was now pouting at his mother's curiosity.

Sebastian chuckled as he felt Ciel's hands encircling his arm. He tried to hide his pretty little head behind his elbow, unmindful of the smudges of dirt that were on his sleeves. Oh, Ciel can be so adorable without meaning to!

"No can do, Missus Rachel, it's a secret, after all!"

And with a wink towards the lady of the Phantomhive house, he walked away with Ciel clinging onto his arm. Her son took a wary glance at his mother, and sheepishly smiled at her as they walked away from her, probably to clean their selves.

Rachel Phantomhive was left pouting near the door leading to the gardens where they had been, her lipstick-painted lips formed in a small "o" as she slowly smiled.

"My little son is growing up so fast!"

With a small giggle, she closed the door and went to her bedroom, where she was sure to find her husband lazily looking at the evening newspapers.

She suddenly felt like a schoolgirl once again.

* * *

Charles paced across his room, his steps creating a soft sound that echoed in his ears. He cupped his chin as he walked, eyebrows furrowed as he breathed. Claude had left him as soon as he delivered his meal in his room. He briefly wondered if the butler had overheard who he was talking to. It would be bad if he knew. Though, judging from his passive face, he could tell that he knew nothing. If he did, there would be a certain glint on those soul-stealing amber eyes. He didn't know how to explain it, but he always knew if the Guelph butler knew something that he shouldn't. He blamed it on himself being cautious on anything and everything in the Guelph manor.

He stopped pacing and looked at the scruffy dark blue carpet beneath his socked feet. He blinked once. What was his problem again? Oh, yes.

Sebastian.

His dear, precious, adorable and aloof mega mini teeny little Sebastian—was missing. And he blamed himself. He laughed at the way he described him—at the _irony_, that he was not his "mega mini teeny little" Seba anymore. His little brother was now taller than him. He smiled as he plopped on his bed, relishing the welcome softness that the mattress had to offer.

He might not be his mega mini teeny little Seba, he might not be the little boy he used to tickle every night before going to bed, they might not be related by blood, but he raised him since the day he found him in that dingy alley and treated him like he was his real brother—someone that he never had. He raised him even when his own grandmother threatened to disown him should he take the then helpless Sebastian under his wing. He sacrificed everything—all to see Sebastian smile and live like a normal human being. He struggled to make him _live_.

And then his grandmother, out of the blue, thought of something even he didn't dare think about.

To search where the boy had lived.

Charles closed his eyes, the images of a certain smiling black-haired child filling his mind's eye.

He often wondered why and how he ended up in London—Sebastian, that is.

He knew of the boy's origin—through his grandmother, of course, as he knew nothing of the cruel world back then, for he was only 13 at that time—and he could feel nothing but pity for the child.

Sebastian was not British. His surname and thick foreign accent when he had asked his name on that gloomy night said it all.

He sighed and rolled on his bed, his elbows propped beneath his chin as he stared at the dark canvas that was painted outside his window.

It was nighttime. Sebastian was not home—not even a call to let him know he's all right. He called him quite a number of times, he was answered by a broken record of an operator. Although, what if, maybe—

—Charles was right, after all?

His jaw clenched, his hands clenched into fists and his brows furrowed as he forced himself not to cry.

Sebastian will always be his brother, no matter what.

He stared at his cell phone on the top of his dresser, the barely there nicks and dents on the phone were some of the tell tale signs that the man had lost his patience on quite a number of times since yesterday. He tried calling his little brother through that now battered phone—and he later felt sorry for himself when he realized that he threw it too hard on the door, and the pieces that held the device in place were shattered to bits. The number he was dialing was out of coverage area, as the monotone operator on the other line had said.

He had to get a new phone, and maybe some bottle of vodka to help him clear his mind, even for just a moment.

* * *

"Hannah?"

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Do you have some spare time? I'd like to talk to you about something."

The maid slowly turned and eyed her warily as her hands washed a plate, her lone violet blue eye involuntarily staring at those wrinkled digits, searching for a sign that she might abuse her again. To an extent, she was afraid of the old woman, afraid that someday she might die at those brittle and wrinkled hands. She hadn't even properly confessed her feeling to Charles yet—she can't die yet!

She heaved a sigh as she finished the last of the dishes and wiped her hands on her apron as she approached her employer, her still damp hands clasp together on her skirts. Victoria stood by the doorway, arms crossed as she eyed the meek maid with disinterest.

The older woman tilted her head, a vague indication for Hannah to follow her. The maid dried her hands completely and held the bandage on her eye, checking to see if it was properly in place. Once satisfied, she hurried over to catch up with Victoria, her mind reeling of thoughts of wanting to escape from the clutches of the Guelph manor.

She led Hannah to her office, her wide frame walking towards her favorite plush chair, and gestured for the woman to sit. Hannah did not know what to do, her feet froze as she stared at that outstretched hand, the maid fumbled with her fingers on her now wrinkled skirt—

"...Sit, Hannah."

And so she did sit, far away from the older woman as possible—the couch was not long enough, she mused, and she suddenly felt a pang of claustrophobia engulfing her senses.

"...You wanted something from me?" she asked after a pregnant pause; she swore she could hear her heart beating through the shells of her ears.

"Why, yes, of _course_ I wanted something from you, my dear child. I wouldn't have called you if I didn't want something now, would I?" Victoria smiled at her, and Hannah unconsciously inched away, wishing for the couch to stretch up to the nearest wall. There was something in that smile that screamed, "torture".

Hannah gulped, "W-well, Your Highness, what—_is it_—that you ask of me?" She chose her words carefully, and waited for a long-winded response—as what she hoped.

"Well," she began, and Hannah hoped for the worst. "I suppose I should begin with the question that I know very well the answer is, but I want to make sure—you love my Charles, am I right, Hannah?"

The maid blinked. That's it?

"And I'm _very_ much sure you would do _anything_ to make him happy, right?"

Hannah, mesmerized by those waning eyes, only nodded blankly. Her hands suddenly felt cold.

"Good."

The maid almost heaved a sigh of relief—_almost._

"—Because I want you to retrieve that queer faux brother of his."

Victoria eyed her, a small, devious smile creeping its way on those sagging cheeks.

"It would be, how shall we say it, _beneficial_, to drag the boy back to this house—seeing as my poor Charles had been—_suffering_—since Sebastian's uncanny escape."

Silence was met in the stuffy room, and the tanned woman could only stare at the woman in shock as Victoria inched towards her slightly shivering frame, wrinkled lips closing in on her cold shells of ears.

"_I'm sure Charles will finally notice you if you get back his precious little brother._"

A tear fell from Hannah's uncovered eye.

* * *

A thin eyebrow was raised as a scrutinizing glare was sent towards his phone, narrowed forest green eyes staring at the unknown number on the screen. It had been a long day, and all his chores were done for the day. Sebastian had returned to his life to pester him once again, not that he complained at all. In fact, he felt the opposite. His daily routine was once again complete. William could not be any—dare he say it—_happier—_than the day that he saw that the infuriating yet charming little boy had quite grown up into a fine teenaged boy in the past few months, for it would mean that in some aspect of that mind of his, he would have been matured in some way. He was proven wrong, however, when just this morning he found whipped cream in his shoes, he blamed the little lord and his friend; though he could also say that the whip cream incident was to be thankful for—Angela found him struggling with cleaning and drying his poor shoes in the laundry, and she helped him. Sebastian was helpful, it seemed, in his own devious way. The proud Phantomhive butler would never say that to him, though. Ciel, on the other hand, still had his mind like that of a child, though he uses his unparalleled wit and intelligence when he wanted to. William could not say, however, if Sebastian could share some secrets and tips to his young lord on a certain physical trait of his—to be tall, that is.

The butler sighed and willed his thoughts away as he pressed the 'call' button, and he put his ear on the receiver.

"_Hello?_"

"Yes, hello. May I speak with whoever is the owner of this number, I seem to forget whoever it was that had my number, although I'm sure I've never given this number to a bunch of strangers and—"

"_I see you have been forgetting some people lately, then._"

"—I beg your pardon?"

"_You've been becoming quite forgetful, I see. Forgetting even your own family."_

There was a long pause at the other end of the line, a white noise seemed to be screeching at William's ears, "...Claude?"

"_...Hello, brother of mine."_

* * *

A filthy-garbed woman loitered in front of the stores, searching for some food and water and pleading for alms at passersby. It was nearing noon, and she was getting parched and hungry from begging. With no luck after a few hours, she plopped back on the flattened cardboard box and wrapped a rag around her cold body.

A fair lady with her hair as white as newly-fallen snow walked towards the store she was loitering on, her eyes were the most exquisite shade between that of violet and blue, and beside her was a man, one with wavy hair of blond with dashes of black, and a possessed a startling shade of aloe-hued eyes, and the tanned woman huddling herself near the glass windows smiled to herself.

_Jackpot._

* * *

"...Angela, you know I love everyone in this house, and that includes you."

"Y-yes, my lady, I know that quite well."

"But I must say I want to ask _why_ are you bringing someone who none of us don't even know! And you told me yourself she attacked you!"

"B-but, my lady! She's poor and hungry! I can't just leave her alone! And Ronald promised me he'll help!"

A whip of a neck and a stern glare was directed at the aforementioned gardener, and Ronald squeaked and hid behind the anxious Angela.

Rachel sighed and walked past the anguished maid, towards the dirty woman that her employees dragged in the house.

The lady of the manor looked—_scrutinized—_her with her index finger beneath her chin, from head to toe, and from toe to head, her blue eyes searching for something that would give away the woman's identity. She should always be sure that whoever will stay in the house should be with no bad record from the state. Their reputation might be at stake if they're not careful.

As her dainty nose flared towards the woman—she was in dire need of a long bath—she spoke once again, "Angela, there are many people who are living on the streets, and she is no different—not to mention, you yourself have been ignoring them with your nose and head held high—what makes her so different from the others?"

Angela opened her mouth to argue, but the gardener, who had kept silent for long, piped up, a sheepish smile gracing his features as he spoke.

"Well, my lady, you see, the thing that made her different from all the other chicks on the streets was that she followed us when we got inside the store to get some foodstock, and then this bloke of an officer—I dunno where he came from, there were no guards when we entered—swooped in and dragged the poor lady by the collar... And then when we were finished with the groceries and went to the car park, she followed us there! And get this, she literally barricaded herself in front of the car! I thought I was a goner! I almost ran over her if it weren't for Miss Angela's warning!" he huffed, and laid an elbow against Angela's shoulder. "I almost made a crime for running over a lovely lady such as her—"

"—Though I clearly remembered you insensitively called her a, 'loony, sorry excuse for a woman who has her knickers up in knots and was in a desperate need of a mental hospital'. Did I hear that correctly or am I just losing my hearing?"

"Uh yeah... You're losing your hearing."

Angela sent a harsh and piercing glare at Ronald, "I'll tell William not to give you any dinner tonight—"

"All right! ...I said it, my lady," sighed Ronald, defeated, as his shoulders slumped and Angela triumphantly smiled.

Rachel sighed, her shoulders rigid and her arms crossed as she regarded the woman in front of her with a passive face—quite uncharacteristically for the usually beaming lady of the house.

"I'll tell Vincent about this. Get her a room first—and a bath and some food and water. A family meeting will take place. Ronald."

"Y-yes, my lady?"

"Call Vincent and Ciel," she paused, her elegant eyebrow elevated as she thought of various trains of thought, "and Sebastian, too, if you please. Oh forget it, just call everyone in the household."

Ronald bowed, awkwardly, and muttered a soft, "Certainly, madame," before leaving the three women alone beneath the grand staircase of the manor.

"Well, now that two of my lovelies have brought you here—and because my family is very much of philanthropist in nature, I'd say you're—welcome—here to stay as soon as we find a proper lodging for you, is that all right?"

The woman, with one wide violet blue eye widened in shock, only nodded meekly.

Rachel giggled, and parted the muddied strands of white from the tan-skinned woman—she vaguely reminded her of Angela, who was still smiling with glee for some reason.

"Now, formalities are not really needed in this estate, so um, would you mind telling me your name?"

"...Anya. Anya Leviatnova Serafina."

Another laugh tinkled from Rachel's carnation-hued lips, and Anya gulped, her hands fumbled with the hems of her dirtied jeans, "Oh, why, that's quite a mouthful of a name! Do you have a nickname, then?"

"...Anya. Anya'd be good."

A wide smile was directed at her surprised visage, and she clapped her hands as she straightened up, "Well, then! Anya!" The lady of the house grabbed her by the shoulders and scrutinized her once again, her hands travelling to places where she thought other hands shouldn't travel to, and the tanned woman, stunned, only looked at her with bewilderment.

"Hm, nice arms. Quite fleshy, I'd say. Nice chest, too—and a shapely pair of buttocks! Oh, Nina will love this! Are you really living on the streets, it doesn't look like it? I like your hair, it really reminds me of Angela—oh! What happened to your eye?" Rachel asked as soon as she parted the wild white locks from her hidden face, and Anya fought the urge to pry those unwanted hands away. Her eye never healed, it seemed.

"'Twas an accident," she simply said, hiding her bandaged eye with her trembling hand. This woman was asking too much questions, and it unnerved her.

"Oh," was what Rachel replied, suddenly looking forlorn as she turned to Angela, the small pout and frown still etched on her visage.

"Well then, Angela. You know what she needs. She must be tired—I'm sure of it."

Angela, who was feeling quite giddy for some time, nodded and beamed at her mistress, "Yes, certainly, my lady! I'll do my best to make her healthy!"

"But she looks healthy enough to me," said the teacher, and her fine eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the maid in the eye, and Angela knew that look all too well.

The maid frowned, and eyed the tanned woman behind her mistress with a passive gaze, "I'll do my best, my lady," she bowed, and gently held Anya's still trembling hand and took her away, probably to the servants' quarters, leaving the inquisitive woman alone.

Rachel looked at the retreating figure of her servant and the unexpected guest. Her lips quirked and her eyebrow raised as her hands opened and closed, the touch and feel of that woman's skin still fresh on her senses.

"...A Russian lady, eh?"

* * *

"...So, then. Because of unforeseen circumstances—thanks to _Angela Landers and Ronald Knox_—we, meaning the Phantomhive household, plus Sebastian, because whether you want to or not, you are now part of this family (though I'm sure you knew that already since you were five), are now welcoming a new, um, temporary resident in the house, Madamoiselle Anya Levi—uhrm—Leviatnova Serafina."

At this, all eyes in the parlor were suddenly directed towards the trembling woman, her tanned frame being seen by the people of the house. She was never a fan of short sleeved shirts. She always opted for long sleeves, as to not reveal her lower and upper arms—and that man who was standing behind Angela looked like someone she knew...

The meek woman, whose wardrobe had changed from tatters and rags to a pair of skinny jeans and a purple sweatshirt—courtesy of Angela—fiddled with her fingers behind her back, unused to such scrutiny from strangers, only nodded and mumbled a quick apology and a greeting, and bit her lip as she stepped back once again. Vincent blinked.

"W-well, that was a fast greeting," he laughed and whispered to his smiling wife, "I thought this might be a good idea for once."

Rachel furrowed her eyebrows. She had been against letting a complete stranger into the house—she had told that to her husband multiple times when they were on the phone since Anya's arrival—though, in Vincent's point of view, it was not a bad thing at all.

"_I thought, through her, we can expand our philantrophy work. If we give her a proper lodging, chances are that whoever she might meet in the future will mention to them about us—it will spread to the media—and thus, our fame will spread._"

"..._I feel like we're using her, dear._"

"_Oh, nonsense, Rachel. It's for our benefit. Besides, at least you have another lady friend in the house aside from Angela. You can, what do you call it, 'doll her up' in your free time._"

"_...You really know my weakness, dear._"

He smiled, "Of course."

The couple stared at each for a moment, long enough for the rest of the household to notice that they were taring at each other like newlyweds, and Ciel calmly cleared his throat.

Needless to say, the Phantomhive couple blinked, and stared at their son with sheepish smiles on their faces.

"I got carried away, I suppose," he smiled at his son, and Ciel sighed.

There was a tense silence in the air as the little teen looked at the unexpected visitor. She looked suspicious to him—and not to mention, Angela held her chin high, her mouth thinned in a small line.

Something was not right, and out of the corner of his blue eye, he saw Tanaka and William glance at each other, frowning.

Ciel Phantomhive took it as a bad omen.

The meeting ended in a way that was not what Ciel expected, though, the nervousness remained in the air. He could still the soft murmurs from the butler and steward from behind, and he glanced at Sebastian, who was looking as perturbed as William and Tanaka—his eyebrows scrunched together, an index finger tapped repeatedly on his chin, his eyes narrowed. Ciel hummed.

Something was definitely not right.

"Sebastian!" he called out from the hallway, and the tall teenager jogged up to Ciel, his eyes trained on that patched violet blue eye that seemed to look at him from inside out.

* * *

Anya went to the spare room that Rachel and Vincent provided—it was in the west wing of the manor, near Ciel's (and Sebastian's, throughout the years) bedroom. It was lavish, _too lavish_, in fact, for her lilac eye. They—along with her—had eaten dinner a few hours ago, and even she considered the food to be too lavish for her tastes. She was not used to living the life of a noble.

Nevertheless, she took the change in stride, her curious mind memorizing each meticulous detail of the colors and decorations in this room.

Her visible lavender eye roamed, looking at the texture and decor in the room with interest. Her gaze fell on the brown bedside table—cherry wood. She opened the top drawer, and inside was an array of different rings of weaved flowers—irises, lilies, hyacinths, red and white roses, baby's breath, tulips, bleeding hearts and blue bells—all slightly withered. She sniffed the fragrance of the dying flora, taking note of how it looked like the wreaths were inside the drawer for a couple of weeks—and all of them looked expertly weaved, too. Anya hummed and smiled.

Her hands fiddled with the ring of blue bells, she inhaled its scent, a mix of the smell of wood and flowers. Her lips curled to a smile.

She returned the wreath back to its place, and closed the drawer. She looked at other things that might pique her interest, her sights landing on a vanity mirror on the other side of the room.

She stared at her reflection with a frown, and noted how her nose curved, Grecian-like, how her visible eye looked dull and hollow, how her patched eye irked her, and how she had cruelly treated her hair in a disheveled bun. She looked old—felt old—and she did not like it.

She looked at the door, and with little contemplation, she walked over to the door and locked it, and returned to her previous place in front of the mirror.

Calloused hands hovered over the uneven skin on her marred face, the little, feathered touches tingling her tanned frame.

Her index and middle fingers travelled to the back of her head, untying the knot that concealed her eye, then those fingers travelled to her chin, peeling a bit of skin.

Or what anyone would assume as a skin.

The shush of a patch of skin—a patch of a mask, to be exact—reverberated in the silence of the room. Anya winced as she peeled the disguise of off her face.

The mask fell on the red plush carpeted floor with a soft plop, and Anya Leviatnova Serafina stared at her reflection once again.

The bits of mask clung to her skin, her Grecian nose was gone, along with the supposed burnt skin that ate away half of her face.

A shuffle of movement was felt through her previous garments of patched rags that sat on the bed—she wouldn't let Angela go near her clothes, for reasons the Phantomhive maid could not fathom—and she sat on the edge of the bed (relishing its heavenly softness), rummaging through her clothes' pockets until the pads of her fingers felt what she was looking for.

"Aha. There you are," she said with a grin as she triumphantly took out a cell phone from one of the pockets of her tattered coat. She looked around, as though someone might overhear her, and with a deep breath, she answered the incoming call.

"Hello?"

There was a short moment of static on the other line—and a little laugh was heard.

Anya smiled as she let loose the bun on her hair, the wavy locks flowing around her waist. She regarded her hair with a smile as she fiddled with a few strands, her eyes glinting with utmost glee as she spoke two words.

"_I'm in."_

* * *

"_No, you don't know the one_

_Who dreams of you at night,_

_Who longs to kiss your lips_

_And longs to hold you tight."_

—You Don't Know Me, Meryll Streep

* * *

Not much Sebastian and Ciel scenes in this chapter. Sorry. XD


	23. Fradautio, Deceit

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_"...Hello, Master Sebastian."_

**DISCLAIMER: **Meh. :O

* * *

"William?"

The aforementioned butler looked up from his paperwork—calculating the expenses this week—and regarded the awkwardly standing Angela with a small hum and a quirk of an eyebrow. It was his way of saying that he was listening, as Angela observed for the past few years they've known each other.

"I've been thinking..."

There was a long moment of silence, and William, who had been sitting on his chair in his quarters, was growing a bit nervous at the words, for some reason. He would never admit that to her, though.

"What is it?" he finally asked after a few more moments of awkward silence. He looked at her worried visage. Something was troubling her, and he was determined to find out the cause.

"Um," she began, and her eyes drifted from corner to corner of the room, before settling her sights on the neatly arranged bed. There was not a crease in sight on the sheets and the pillow cases. How typical of William.

The butler traced her line of sight, then he looked around his room. He almost groaned at the lack of common sense that his mind failed to have. He twitched a smile and gestured over to the bed.

"I apologize for the lack of chairs," was what he simply said, and Angela giggled, her voice chiming in William's ears.

"I don't mind it at all, the state of the servants' rooms are the same, after all," and she smiled at him. William chuckled. The maid sat on the edge of the creaseless bed, muttering a soft apology for wrinkling the pristine sheets, William did not mind one bit.

Angela giggled once again, and tucked a stray lock of her ivory hair behind her small ear, she spoke once again.

"As I was saying..." she cleared her throat and laid her hands on her lap, her back straightened, the very picture of a gentle lady.

William smiled.

"The mistress said something that disturbed me this morning," she said as her feet tapped the carpet once, and the man blinked at her words, his smile faltering just a tad.

"Something disturbing?" and his smile faltered to a frown. He did not like the sudden change of the atmosphere, Lady Rachel saying something disturbing to Angela? Something _disturbing?_ To _Angela? _Now, that was new.

A strained smile was etched on her face as her shoulders heaved and made herself comfortable on the bed.

"Something about the stray and healthy kitten we picked up this morning," she said. William hummed, a thoughtful look was painted on his porcelain face as he leant back on his chair and dropped the pen he was holding onto the desk. Butler duties can wait later—he was slacking off, for once.

"I think you know what Lady Rachel meant."

Angela nodded, she bit her lower lip as she looked at William, "It's just that she suspected something the moment she laid her hands on her. She said something about Anya being too healthy for someone who lived in the streets."

"...You want me to search for information about her, is that it?"

She nodded again.

* * *

"Anya Leviatnova Serafina. Born in Moscow, Russia on the 6th of June, 1984. Lived in Lancaster in her first five years with her mother in a rundown flat. During those five years, her mother got divorced and later remarried in Hammersmith. She died two years later from domestic abuse due to her second husband's treatment. Her stepfather was never caught and the court closed the case. Anya was then put in an orphanage—and a philantropist gave that orphanage free education for all the residing children. At age 22, she changed her name to Hannah Leviatnova Anafeloz, after her biological father and stepfather. Was taken in by the Guelph household when she was 16 years old as a housemaid."

A soft hush of papers was heard in the office, and a sigh was elicited from Vincent as he rubbed his temples and he leant back on his chair.

"...Guelph."

"...Yes, my lord. Guelph."

"If memory serves, that name's related to Charles, right? The Grey one, I mean. Not Phipps."

William nodded.

Vincent closed his eyes, mind gears turning with thoughts. "Maybe it's just a coincidence?" William asked, trying to somehow uplift his master's sour mood—though he knew in the end it would end in futile. Vincent only sighed as he shook his head. He always knew that whatever information the butler held was reliable—the Phantomhives were not involved with the claws of the underground for no reason.

"...I don't believe in coincidences, William Spears."

The butler smiled, "Of course."

* * *

"Well? How has life been for you lately, velvet?"

"Good enough."

"..."

"..."

"...That's it?"

"Uh huh."

And Nina sighed as she looked at Sebastian's eating form.

She tried to start a conversation again as she turned to Ciel, "How about you, silk?"

"Good enough."

"..."

"..."

"...That's it?"

"Yup. Oh, and I'm feeling quite contented with everything I have as of now."

The 16-year-old gushed and clapped her hands, "Aww, how sweet of you to admit that you're contented! Unlike some _others _around here," and she huffed as she glared at Sebastian, who ate his chocolate sponge in peace.

"Even if I don't say it, I know that he knows I'm contented, too."

And Sebastian resumed eating in silence, as though he did not say anything at all.

The tailor prodigy blinked, her eyes looking from Ciel who was silently sipping on his milk tea, to Sebastian who had just finished eating his chocolate sponge.

A silent, "oh" left her lips.

And they resumed eating.

Sebastian had returned to school four days after his initial appearance at the school grounds. Needless to say, the students (mainly the females, and some males, too) clamored for a glimpse of the enigmatic Raven. Rumours had already floated about on how tall and handsome he had gotten since he disappeared. _The rumours failed to disappoint_, they soon said after seeing the male for themselves.

Ethereal and regal was how they would describe the walking epitome of god-like beauty that was Sebastian Michaelis. They would fawn over the ground he would walk on, the quick glances he would look upon, and the few people he would talk to.

Ciel Phantomhive, of course, was Sebastian's top priority—and the person he talked to the most.

The Raven would never be seen without His Bride, as Maylene once said. The large throngs of students proved that it was true. He would never be seen without the doll-like boy—always following him, always talking to him, always walking with him, always eating with him, always being with him, in and out of school, like a loyal hound. Sebastian didn't seem to mind following him around—him who always had a contented air whenever he was around the little teen.

And they could never blame the black-haired teen.

Who _wouldn't _fall for Ciel's effiminate charms?

Those dark, long and thick eyelashes that would make women cry with envy. That little button nose and those childish cheekbones that would make a child do a double take. That pair of mismatched eyes that spoke of many hidden stories of sadness and joy. That soft and radiant alabaster skin that rivaled the glow of heavenly moonlight. That pair of carnation-hued lips that looked too sinful to be innocent. The glide of fluid and graceful steps of movement as he walked and talked. That lilting piannissimo and vibrato of his developing and deepening voice.

Everything that involved the President's son was to die for.

They vied for their attention—and with just a little bit of a smile from the two males would send both men and women swooning at their feet.

The Raven had finally returned to his Dove—as they all hoped he would.

Nina smiled as she watched her friends eat. It didn't bother her that she was in the presence of her younger peers. In fact, it gave her a feeling of a certain emotion—one that she could not pinpoint—to protect them (from what, she couldn't exactly tell).

"Nina, why are you smiling?" Maylene and Elizabeth asked in unison.

At this, several heads, including Ciel and Sebastian, looked at the face of a happily smiling Nina. She gazed upon the two pale boys.

Those mismatched eyes will forever haunt her of dreams of inspiration for her ideal man.

...Not that she would tell them that, of course.

In reply, she leant forward on the table and cupped her chin on the heels of her palms, inadvertently showing a nice amount of cleavage that made Maylene and Elizabeth blush. Ash and Bard discreetly looked away while Grell looked at his own chest with sadness.

With a smile, she spoke, "No reason. I'm just reminiscing about our times together, that's all."

The others only tilted their heads, confused at the words of their upperclassman.

At their confused looks, Nina giggled—and she heard a wistful sigh.

"She must be coming at that age."

And Nina smacked Grell on the face with a plate full of cottage cheese.

* * *

The halls were becoming silent now. It was nearing five in the afternoon, and the students and teachers slowly filed away, returning to their respected homes and families.

In Sebastian and Ciel's case, they were waiting for Ronald's arrival by the school gates. Vincent had a meeting to attend to, and Rachel still has her tutoring sessions to students, leaving the two of them waiting by the Dean's office in the presence of Lau and Lan Mao.

And they were becoming bored from Lau's repetitive telling and re-telling of his adventures in his homeland, China. He had been doing it since they sat on the spacious leather couch 30 minutes ago.

"—And then there was this nice black-blue cat in one of the towns that reminded me so much of my dear Lan Mao here. Right, Lan Mao?"

"...Hn."

"She's so cute!"

Sebastian and Ciel only sighed.

"Heeey! Pardon for the intrusion, Mister L! Jus' droppin' by to fetch my young lord and his—oh! Hey, Young Master! Master Sebastian!"

It was Ronald who entered the room with the cheer of a hyena, his wide grin ever present on his lips; and at some point, it rivalled Charles Grey's optimism—and Sebastian shook his head at the thought.

Ciel stood up, too happy to finally go back home and eat some sweets—he had been craving for some candied jellies for quite some time, and he thought about requesting William to make them—he took Sebastian's hands as he stood, and waved a little wave at Lau and Lan Mao. The former smiled calmly, his air of wisdom eminating from his youthful face. The woman only nodded while she sat on Lau's armchair. It didn't seem to bother her in the slightest—but Ciel has yet to see her sit down on an actual chair, void of Lau's presence.

The Chinese man waved at the boys taking their departure, his ever smiling face etched on his skin, "Take care, Little Blue!"

"...Please don't call me that," said Ciel, and yet he smiled, even for just a bit. Sebastian chuckled at the new pet name the man had given him. The other day it was Little Corgi—he thought it was cute (even if the pet name was after a dog).

Lau pouted, his black-beaded eyes smiling as he spoke, "Eeh? But it's cute! Right, Lan Mao?"

"...Ah," and she nooded weakly, her little mouth pouted in a little line.

"See?"

Sebastian and Ciel only forced strained smiles in return.

Ronald smiled widely, his white teeth gleaming along with his eyeglasses. Sebastian only shrugged at the gardener slash chauffeur's behaviour. He was used to it.

"Bye, Mister Lau! Bye, Miss Lan Mao! See you two tomorrow!" cheered Ciel happily as he waved at the smiling man and the ever silent woman.

They bid their waves and goodbyes as they turned and closed the oakwood door, Ciel clinging happily on Sebastian's arm as he did so—Sebastian didn't seem to mind. Ronald watched them with mild interest as he took their bags—a servant doesn't have an opinion for anything that involves the master's affairs, he once assumed.

"Say, Young Master," Ronald began as he led them down the car park, the surroundings now silent now that the students and professors have left. Ciel turned around to acknowledge him that he was listening, his hand never left Sebastian's arm. "Do you think you won't mind if..."

He and Sebastian paused in their walk as they briefly glanced at him. The man was scratching his head, an indication that he was embarrassed about something, Sebastian observed from the corner of his blue eye.

"If what, Ronald?" Ciel asked as they resumed walking.

"I-if we could stop over at the accessories shop on our way home? I-I'd like to look at something, you see."

Sebastian and Ciel looked at each other skeptically, then back at the gardener.

"'Mkay."

And Ronald shouted in glee.

"Who is it for?" Sebastian inquired with an amused look on his marble-smooth face—surely there must be something that the man wanted to buy in that store for a significant other. There was no other explanation aside from that.

"Oh. It's for our guest, Master Sebastian," he smiled sheepishly, and the pale male raised an eyebrow.

"Guest?" he parroted. Who? It couldn't be him, right? He had been lounging within the walls of the Phantomhive estate for too long for him to—

"That woman with the long name, you mean?" Ciel finally asked.

_...Long name, he says. __  
_  
And realization dawned on Sebastian, "Oh! That Anya lady!"

"Yeah! That one!"

They laughed—and it fell short as they realized one vital fact, their heads turning slowly in unison as they spoke simultaneously—

"You're courting a panhandler?"

* * *

"This would have to do."

The man hummed as he looked at his basket full of various trinkets―bracelets and necklaces and hairpins and headbands—of different shades of purple and of different designs of butterflies. "It seems to be her favorite color, and it looks like she likes butterflies, too," Ronald said with a nod, proud of himself for his recent bout of observation.

Ciel and Sebastian only shrugged.

He took the items to the cashier and bought them―not before winking at her and giving her a playful grin, making the brown-haired woman blush. Ciel only sighed at his gardener's behaviour. It seemed that he had to get rid of his womanizing ways if he really wanted a real relationship—not that he would say that to him.

Whatever happened to, "I only like Anya!" a few minutes ago?―Sebastian wondered.

As he and Ciel stood beside Ronald, his eyes roamed around, looking at the various items that it offered. The shop was not meant for the rich—of course—not that he minded it at all; in fact, the atmosphere felt calm—unlike at the stuffy restaurants his brother took him to three years ago.

He frowned at the thought—no, he was not thinking of his brother. Not now. He had yet to make up—and talk—with him. He heaved a sigh.

His scrutinizing eyes landed on a black, velveted headband ladled with intricate silver bows and garnet-hued little beads, topped with a little silver and black crown on its side. He smiled―and looked back at Ciel, he was fiddling with his game console again. Good.

With one last look at the accessory, and back at Ciel, he took the headband and looked at it closely, his spidery fingers touching along the velvety feel of the fabric (_My bride might not like it if the texture is not right for him... Hm._)—feeling satisfied with his choice of accessory for Ciel. He took it and paid it on another counter—making sure that neither Ciel nor Ronald were looking. He had to finish buying it before Ronald finished with his presents-to-buy.

The lady at the counter smiled at the black-haired male, "For your girlfriend? How nice!" (Sebastian didn't bother to correct her for some reason—let alone comment on her coy smile or on the way she pouted her lips discreetly as she spoke. His eyes wandered back to Ciel.) She pressed some keys on the keyboard and looked at the screen as the cost of the trinket was seen on the monitor. "That will be ￡six ninety-five," and Sebastian paid the required price, and beamed at her.

"Thank you very much."

The woman bit her lip and batted her eyelashes, a little blush forming on her cheeks, "Y-you're welcome, sir. C-come again!"

He took the plastic containing the headband and placed it carefully inside his bag, and left the counter to return to Ronald and Ciel's side―and as he assumed, the cashier was having a hard time with Ronald's items, for they were too many, and the little teen was still struggling with his battles with the harpies on his PSP. Sebastian stifled a laugh and inched closer to the unsuspecting boy. He whispered to his ear, and caught a whiff of melon-scented shampoo on those slate-grey locks, "I'll smash those harpies for you, if it means I get to stay with you tonight."

Ciel didn't even flinch at the sudden onslaught of warm breath on the shell of his ear (for he was already accustomed to it), he didn't even turn to acknowledge Sebastian's offer (for he was already accustomed to it), let alone utter a proper response! The pale teen pouted as Ciel only grunted, on the screen of struggling with those harpies or as a way of reacting to Sebastian's suggestion, he would never know. So this bald, bulky, bushy-browed, green-eyed, constantly-frowning-and-slouching, goatee-moustached, loincloth-clad, pasty-white skinned, constantly-irate and yelling-at-the-gods Spartan was more important than him, eh? _Well, we'll see about that._

With a little smile, and, not minding the other people behind them waiting in line, eyes too focused on the counter to care for the scene in front of them, Sebastian kissed his cheek―and the reaction was instant.

Ciel stopped his furious, multiple-button smashing, his furrowed eyebrows suddenly rose and his heterochromatic eyes widened as he looked away from the PSP screen―ignoring the pained grunts of his pixelled playing character ringing in his ears.

Ciel stared at Sebastian, his eyes wide. Sebastian stared back with a smile and a little sway on the balls of his feet with his hands behind his back as he hummed. Ciel pouted, and, with a glance at Ronald―two more items to go!―he stood on his tiptoes and aimed to kiss Sebastian's cheek.

He managed to kiss his chin.

At least it wasn't his neck, this time.

"...You made me kill Kratos."

Sebastian's eyes danced with mirth as red orbs darted to the PSP screen, and sure enough, the words, "YOU ARE DEAD", glared at the screen in a huge, bloody red glow.

He smirked―and his lips hovered near Ciel's.

"I guess it's safe to assume I need a punishment for my thoughtless behaviour?"

The little Phantomhive only looked away, knowing a touch of carnation pink had stained his boyish cheeks—and he fought not to smile.

"That will be ￡sixty-four ninety-nine, sir."

"...There goes my bread and butter. Oh well. Here you go. Thanks, babe!"

"You're welcome, Ronnie!"

The gardener turned around and smiled. In his right hand was his newly-bought presents for the tan-skinned woman temporarily residing in the Phantomhive residence, and in his left hand was a little piece of paper with a hastily scribbled series of numbers―no doubt from that blushing cashier.

"Well, let's go, masters!"

Said masters were only looking at each other. Ronald blinked.

"...Did something happen when I was talking to the cashier?"

Sebastian only smiled. Ciel looked away with a blush.

* * *

"I'm really sorry about this, Young Master. It's not really my place to drag you two into this, and I made you wait! Please don't tell Master on me!" Ronald sheepishly smiled as he looked at the blinking teens through the rear-view mirror with a little strained laugh.

Ciel laughed, his PSP still clutched in his thin hand. Sebastian had killed those harpies in his game as promised―and as Ciel promised, he'd get to stay in the Phantomhive residence for the night... not that he hadn't done that almost every day since they were five, he was more than welcome in the house, anyway.

"It's all right, Ronald. It's not my place to say who you should like, and I won't tell Father," the 15-year-old said with a chuckle as he smashed the PSP buttons with his slender fingers, his thin eyebrows now furrowed as his character, Kratos, rolled his way to the nearby stairs. Sebastian only smiled, content to just listening to the conversation taking place as he looked outside through the window of the car, his index finger thrumming along with the beat of the music playing in the radio.

He felt calm—a feeling he hadn't felt since he was away from London. His looked at his barely there reflection on the window, his good eye looking at his blind one.

Yes, if it weren't for him—

"I died again! Sebastian—"

His eyes darted at Ciel, and with a soft smile, he stretched out his palm.

—Sebastian himself would have died, too.

All the while, Ronald watched them through the mirror, his marbled face and jade-hued eyes filled with sadness and joy.

* * *

It all started with a few stolen glances on that person.

She would look at him at the corner of her visible purple eye, and he would feel the urge to scratch his nape.

"Hello, sir," she once said on a rainy day. And Sebastian could not shake away the feeling that beneath that horribly marred face and that crooked nose lies someone whom he knew in the past.

"Um, hello?" he had curiously replied, his mismatched eyes peering into those familiar-looking eyes.

She looked at him with a little smile, those deep crow's feet and that bumpy scar etched on her marred tanned face deepening ever so slightly as she did so. He pitied her, for one reason or another.

They only exchanged a few curt nods and a distant wave of hands as parting—and nothing more.

Ronald had been adamant to try to woo her, despite her broken visage and her state of homelessness.

He often wondered what the gardener saw in the tan-skinned maiden.

"'Bastian! 'Bastian!"

The 15-year-old whipped his head towards the sound of that slightly squeaky and raspy voice, and without further delay, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a spare inhaler and rushed towards the pale-looking and now kneeling Ciel, the thoughts about that Anya's strange behaviour forgotten as he ran towards the heaving boy.

Whenever he would say his name that way, it could only mean that another asthma attack was attacking his poor Ciel.

"Breathe in."

And Ciel sucked on the precious air through the device a few times, his chest heaving as he did so. He could feel the large and warm hand traversing over the small expanse of his thin back, and his vision started to clear once he―

"You all right now?" Sebastian asked, his hand never leaving the still jerking expanse of bones and flesh through the pads of his fingers, he was so small in his arms. Ciel nodded―quivering a bit as he did so―and he could feel his breathing slowly returning to normal the more he puffed air through the little device. He gulped and breathed deeply, and with the inhaler returned to Sebastian, he nuzzled his head to the crook of the pale teen's neck.

Ciel almost purred.

"I left the inhaler in my room," he began as soon as he regained the sense to speak, inhaling the soothing scent of lavender as he spoke and heaved at the same time. "I didn't know I'd have an attack and―"

"Hush. It's fine now. Don't worry. It wasn't a major attack. Shh."

Ciel whined, but didn't interrupt. The taller male always had this great talent of calming him with just the mere sound of his voice―and he tried not to yawn there and then (_A voice made from the heavens!―_he once thought).

"Good thing I always bring a spare inhaler for you just in case episodes like this should happen, yes?"

Ciel nodded, his lips fighting back a small smile.

"And it's a good thing I know you so well―so well that I can tell that you're trying not to yawn."

Ciel bit his lip and chuckled.

"You know me so well."

"Of course."

Ciel hummed, his pattern of breathing now returning to normal. They stood up, and walking without so much as a glance behind them, they kissed.

Hidden behind a glazed corner of a wall, sullen violet eyes gazed at the cooing pair, oblivious that they were being watched.

_Master...!_

* * *

"Sebastian Michaelis. Born on the sixth of June, 1997, in the outskirts of Freiburg im Breisgau, Baden-Württemberg, Germany. The sole heir to the Engelhaften Rabe Industry of Companies. His parents—who remained unnamed up to this day due to questionable multiple aliases (no one actually knew their real names except for the inner Michaelis family)—were once known for dealing with various businesses from culinary arts to gunneries. On February 1998, the Michaelis couple was found burnt to death near one of their estates in Frankfurt. The infant, who was lying near the corpses and was physically unharmed due to the thick fur coat that was wrapped around his body, miraculously survived after being starved for 24 hours. The murky details regarding the Michaelis murder remain unsolved and questionable up to this day. Rumours had it that attorneys and authorities close to the family have reportedly been tight-lipped and have tampered the details of the real identities of the Michaelis couple—the reasons remain unanswered.

"On the sixth of March, 2000, the Michaelis child, then three years old, was found in a dingy alleyway in London being beaten up by unknown men. How he managed to land all the way to England, one would never know."

There was a pregnant pause, interrupted only by a faint intake of lungfuls of air.

"...That's all you have?"

"...Yes."

A hoarse and raspy hum resounded in the room, "I see."

The tall man remained standing in front of the coughing woman, unfazed by the sounds her throat made. It made his irritated, to say the least—that noise kept grating on his nerves since dawn.

"I think you now know why I want that strange queer by my side."

Golden eyes remained looking at the glass and gold-laded windows behind her, his gaze and his mind faraway from her words―as blank as the clouds.

A barely audible hum was all what he replied.

Victoria leant back on her plush chair, her spine almost sighing at the comfort upon meeting the softness of the furniture.

"The sole heir to one of the largest companies in Germany. The only _living _heir to one of the largest companies in Germany," she smiled, her lips curled, wrinkled and withered by time's unforgiving acts as she moistened her dry and slightly chapped lips.

"And he doesn't even know it!"

Silence met her ears. She figured as much that he wouldn't answer, not with that reason.

"He would be useful to me," she finally said with a weak smile, her false teeth slightly bared for him to see.

Claude only frowned, clicked his tongue under his breath and clenched his fists as his eyes narrowed. His feet wanted to smash something, for some reason.

"Indeed."

* * *

"Anya! What happened to your eye?" quipped the smiling boy as he looked at the tan-skinned woman staring at the lavender blooms. She looked nice enough, he thought, and he wondered why his best friend adamantly refused to talk to her. He only happened to run into her this morning when he was out looking for Ronald to get some new flowers—and he managed to drag her along from one of the parlors (she blamed his smile for it).

The winds were in favor to Ciel's health today―not too cold and not too warm, just how the Phantomhive heir liked it. And for his company, he urged the frail-looking Russian to sit by him in his mother's garden, since Sebastian was tending to Tabitha's food when he last saw him (and Ciel knew Sebastian would get upset if his cat doesn't get her food on time—picky beings, those felines are). It was simply out of pure curiosity that he asked the question―he never thought of his question as being rude, though.

"An accident," was what she simply replied, her lilac eyes cast upon the damp blades of grass beneath her borrowed clothes from the kind Phantomhive maid—_(Angela, was it?)_. It was tough, she mused, having to keep up with the boy's words and cries of enthusiasm for the past few minutes since they sat beneath the pine tree. Did he ever run out of ideas and questions? And that tinkling laugh! It reminded her so much of the mistress of this house!

A soft "oh" was all what Ciel uttered, and he resumed twiddling with the stubborn flower stems in his bitty hands―petunias, as Anya observed.

"Does it hurt?" he asked after he finished with making the intricate-looking flower wreath. It looked like a halo to her eyes―and to her surprise, the pretty ring of flowers were being given to her with a wide smile.

She forced an upward tug of her lips.

"Not anymore."

The rush of wind caressed their faces and the tresses of their hair, the cool air welcomed against their skin.

Anya clutched the offered wreath, and Ciel smiled when she hesitantly put it on top of her head.

"It looks nice on you!" and he laughed, blue and red eyes concealed by thin eyelids as he tumbled on the blades of grass on purpose―and large, mismatched eyes looked at the wide sky with his arms stretched out.

It reminded Anya of a certain little boy with silvery hair.

Innocence painted his face, as she observed.

And in that moment, she realised what the black-haired male saw in that boy with the face of the most beautiful cherub she had ever imagined.

A mumbled "thanks" was her reply.

"You should smile more!" he gleefully cried as he hopped to his feet, unmindful of the little leaves clinging on his frame.

And Anya forced a small smile.

"There! See? It's not so hard, isn't it? Sebastian once told me I should smile more because he likes it! I dunno what he meant by it, but I small all the time! Mostly when he's around, though—oh! Don't tell him that," he said as he put a petal-ridden forefinger to his pinkish lips, a gesture to keep what he just said as a secret—between friends, was what the younger thought. And he resumed his chiming laughter, small hands clutching to his small tummy as he wiped a lone tear of mirth from his scarlet eye.

She meekly laughed and nodded, violet eyes looking at the smiling child—their short conversations always seemed to end up about that all too familiar male.

Just as she was about to comment on the sun-blinding smile the child-like teen seemed to constantly emit nowadays, a loud rumble of a call that sounded suspiciously like the smiling teen's name was heard from a distance―and she knew that voice everywhere.

"Ciel! There you are!"

The aforementioned boy stopped his laugh with a jolt upon realising the timbre of that voice.

Upon seeing the familiar mop of jet black hair, his beam widened and he ran towards him, "Sebastian!"

Small and feminine-like arms wrapped themselves around a lithe frame, and long, lean arms wrapped him back.

"I made Anya a wreath!"

"Really, now?"

"Yup! And she looked really nice in it, too! They're petunias, you see, and it was hard to do—those stems were stubborn! And so I flattened them with my knuckles! But I'll make one for you, too, if you want! Ronald planted some bleeding hearts a few months ago from the flower shop nearby, and they're blooming beautifully! Once they're in full bloom, I'll make you lots of wreaths made out of bleeding hearts!"

Sebastian laughed, "I'm looking forward to it―though I think those flowers, those bleeding hearts you say, sound depressing, don't you think? And they're too delicate."

Ciel shook his head, little green and brown leaves swaying from his petite head. He had rolled on the grass a few minutes ago, it seemed―and Sebastian was amused.

"I'll find a way to make one, somehow! It's for you, after all!"

And Sebastian leant down and kissed his forehead, the latter returning his kiss with a joyful laugh—as he pecked that small forehead, those slitted eyes travelled elsewhere, to a certain lady sitting beneath the pine tree.

Piercing scarlet and azure eyes drifted to the Russian's gaze, and the lilac stare swayed from his face.

_All too familiar._

Sebastian was pulled from his thoughts as a pair of hands kept tugging at his sleeve―and he just had to look at that blinding smile.

"Do you want me to make a wreath for you now, Sebastian?" Ciel asked (and he did an adorable job at doing it, that asking and smiling thing).

"I think the wreaths can wait later―"

The smaller male whined.

"―it's time for tea."

And Ciel brightened up.

"'Mkay! And I want cakes!"

The Raven smiled at him, and he looked at the woman sitting on the grass—and with Ciel's arms wrapped tightly around his arm, he walked towards the platinum-haired Russian, and he held out his hand to her, startling her completely.

"Would you like to join us? You _are _a guest in this household, after all―no matter what your status is in society."

Anya, not expecting the act of kindness, only barely nodded. The proffered hand was hesitantly taken―_has his hand always been this warm?_―and she slowly stood.

"You're too kind," the wide-eyed woman uttered, and she shakily let go of the pale hand. Ciel was keenly observing her reaction from the space between Sebastian's elbow and his torso—jealous, perhaps?

Sebastian only snorted.

_You're too obvious, Anya._

* * *

Night came in the thresholds of London. Cities were brimming with blinding and dancing lights and buildings were alive with boisterous laughter and music could be heard from the streets as the weekends approach the citizens.

Inside the Phantomhive house, the atmosphere was no different. Lady Rachel had been whipping up new meals to cook with Angela—a surprise to her husband, she had said—and Vincent planning another trip to the nearest movie with his family. Ciel had been adamant that they should bring the servants and guests along—the more, the merrier, he said.

Sebastian's mood was in high spirits, too, as he trudged along the halls of the vast estate, his mismatched eyes and his candle-like fingers intent on finding a certain furry Scottish Fold cat. And he was doing the search all with a smile. He never bothered asking Ciel, he looked too cute when he was taking his stolen naps. Sebastian had been looking everywhere for the past few minutes—bypassing the bathrooms and the libraries altogether, knowing that she wouldn't be found in such places. That cat always hated the water—and she hated being alone, too.

So where had she gone off again?

As he was humming a tune to himself, a hushed murmur of a certain conversation sparked the interest of one Sebastian Michaelis from the silent halls. He was sure he heard his name being mumbled inaudibly within the confines in one of the servants' quarters—it seemed like it came from the room beside Angela. He had been looking for Tabitha for quite some time now, and the servants' rooms were the last resort. Surely, Angela was being disturbed again by his cat? Maybe Tabitha was sleeping on the maid's handmade baskets again!

The murmurs echoed in his ears—and there!

"_I'm sure. He is quite attached to him. Just like what you said he'd be."_

...What?

There, on the other side of the lavender-scented room, his red and blue eyes peeked from the smallest of holes and the tiniest of cracks from the well-oiled door.

And there, on the other side of the mahogany door, was a woman, all looking well and perfectly fed in her tanned and ripped mask from her marred face and her gauze-dressed eye and her perfectly combed and silvery waist-length tresses and her perfectly ironed skirt and long-sleeved shirt on her perfectly formed frame—acting as though she owned the room she stood in and the phone she held in her bony and tanned fingers—as though it was meant to be there in her grasp.

_"He is hopelessly in love with the little one—and I think it will take some time before I get my hands on him."_

Sebastian stood outside the door, unblinking, palms sweaty and his breath hitched to his throat as he tried to swallow the words he just heard.

_"Sebastian Michaelis is digging his grave deeper the more he gets closer to that little boy."_

All thoughts of retrieving his precious pet cat vanished from his mind as he realised the timbre of that voice—the constantly calm and soothing voice that hummed like a lullaby in its wake.

Anya Leviatnova Serafina.

"_This is all for Spasityel."_

He once heard of stories from his brother a long time ago, back to when he first came to the Guelph estate. In the fields of the gardens of blue bells and lavenders, they would sit. Him telling the then child about the stories of damsels and of forgotten love and of beautiful lavenders and of the scent of the earth after it had been doused in rain. Charles always used to say a certain word that would make his lips curl upward, as though saying the word alone would make him the happiest person on earth.

_("There was this one girl that I really like, you see. And she kept calling me something that I couldn't forget.")_

Sebastian always had a hard time pronouncing the word on his bumbling lips. And Charles would always correct him.

_("She always called me her spasityel. She said it means her Savior.")_

Sebastian had only blinked back then, not fully understanding what the words meant. He was only three years old back then, after all.

_("Lady Russia is what I always call her. Her being randomly calling me names that seemed to mean the world to her.")_

Anya.

_("I had loved her, then. My little Anya.")_

"...Hannah Anafeloz."

The phone dropped from her frozen fingers. Lavender eyes met scorching blue and red through the black slit of the door.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his arms opening the door wide, stepping inside in graceful, confident steps. She took two steps back for each sound of those footfalls. He had grown—_so much_—even taller than her beloved Charles and his beloved Charles.

"She wants you back," was what she simply uttered, and her ears strained for the hoarse voice from the fallen phone—her ears only distinctly heard static.

"I don't want to go back, _Hannah._"

"I want you back."

"_You_ want me back because of that wretched excuse of a grandmother. She's not even my relative—not even yours. Why follow her?"

At this, she frowned, her eyebrows furrowed as she bit her lip. Sebastian had always been a wise boy—very much wiser than his years. She often wondered how he managed such a feat.

"You know the answer, Master."

He harrumphed, and just as he was about to retort, he heard a distinct meow. He looked down, and there, holding a chicken bone with its mouth, was Tabitha, who seemed to grin upon seeing her owner.

For a moment, he had forgotten that Hannah was in front of him.

"Hello there, beautiful. You've been a terrible girl. Making me worry like that. Don't do that again, okay?" and he lifted her up, rubbed her chin and cuddled her close.

He turned his back on the Russian, and with a small smile, he hummed.

"It has always been for my brother, isn't it. You and your silent declarations of love for him."

She nodded, even though he couldn't see it.

"He loved you, you know."

"...But _he_ came to his life."

"—And stole him away from you, I presume?"

"...You know it well. The story of your brother and I."

He only laughed and walked away, bowing a bit as a sign of respect. Tabitha's small meow signaled as their bid for good night.

* * *

"What do you mean she took a leave? She can't just up and leave!"

A sigh, "Charles, dear. She's also a woman, and a woman has needs and interests scattered all over the place. Besides, _I_ was the one who hired her. Why the fuss?"

"And that place would be? Just what else does she need that she can't have here! Huh?" Charles retorted. No. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of answering the last question, the answer was his and his alone.

Victoria huffed, and her eyes gazed on the scenery of the trees just outside her window. Indeed, _that_ woman had been gone for some time, and she hadn't been expecting her grandson to return quickly from the bakery. She made sure that no form of interaction was present between him and the other Charles—she made sure Claude would instill that in his mind. Any form of transaction and conversation would go through Claude—she made sure of that. The man was too loyal to disobey her.

"She returned because of the thing that she wanted the most," her waned eyes turned at her grandson, and watched with satisfaction he furrowed his eyebrows.

"And she left because of that very same thing that she wanted the most."

She heard him growl as she turned around, her back facing him as she regarded the blue bells swaying in the winds just outside the windows.

"Why are you speaking in riddles all of a sudden?" he asked.

Victoria smiled, and twiddled a stray thread from one of the curtains on the windows.

"You'll see soon, someday, Charles. The thing that you have lost."

"What?"

* * *

The sound of papers shuffling and of keys being tapped were heard in the Phantomhive head's office. It was already past midnight, and Rachel had offered to keep him company in his office, despite him being busy. She ended up sleeping on the couch with a book about perennial plants on her hands. The Phantomhive butler had covered his mistress with a comforter, as per his master's orders. Angela had been busy, too, for she had been given a task that was related to the new guest in the house.

The sound of creaking wheels was heard, and Vinccent leant back, effectively popping a few bones on his back in the process, "William."

The aforementioned butler snapped his head in his master's direction, his gloved hands putting down the list of the past transactions on the table, "Yes, sir?"

"Please search on this."

The butler rearranged his slipping eyeglasses and took the proffered papers from his master's hand, and his bespectacled gaze read the blank-inked words on the parchment.

"_...Engelhaften Rabe._"

* * *

"Sebastian?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"Eh?"

He turned around and faced a wide-eyed Ciel. It was already past one o'clock, and he wondered what had gotten into his bride to be up in an ungodly hour, then again—

—he had been up wide awake, too, right?

"The people in the house are restless. I can hear them."

Sebastian was silent at that. And Ciel droned on.

"Father had been cooped up in his study since this afternoon for some reason, and I can't understand why."

_Hm._

Sebastian was silent the whole time that Ciel spoke. The more he raises his suspicions, the more curious Sebastian gets.

"...Are you sure something has been going on?" he asked, his eyes trying to locate where Ciel's eyes would have been had the light been turned on. They had never gotten out of the habit of the two of them sleeping together. No member of the Phantomhive house questioned it, though.

Sebastian could feel that Ciel nodded—and quite fervently, too—and he could almost imagine the determined little pout on those pinkish lips.

"Angela's been weird lately."

Sebastian laughed, "She has always been weird, Ciel. All with her and her endless supply of cloth to don you in it." He meant for it as a joke, but Sebastian guessed that Ciel shook his head, judging by the sound of the hushed fabric that was the pillowcase. And he frowned.

"Anya has been talking to Hannah a lot, lately."

"Well, of course. She was the one who brought her here."

The taller male could feel tiny fingers biting onto his shirt. His little Ciel was nervous, it seemed.

Well, what _was_ it about this—_Russian_—lady that made her presence sound terrifying to his bride?

"Ciel?" he asked cautiously, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to look at that blue-red gaze despite the both of them being enveloped in the dark.

"Do you want me to get rid of her for you?"

Ciel, for the most part, could only babble—his hands hastily found their way to the lamp on the night stand—and his furrowed brows were more scrunched up than ever as he looked at Sebastian's blinking gaze.

"_What?"_

* * *

...I can't think of any song for this chapter. D: *headdesk* Oh well. XD


	24. Propositum, Plan

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_"Well, then. Let's hear it, my boy."_

**DISCLAIMER: **Meh. :O

* * *

**A/N:** Oh look I'm back. *gets pelted with boulders from seething readers* I dunno if anyone's still reading this fic, but... Oh well. I already had an ending planned for this one since a year ago, so no, this fic won't be abandoned. And here I am!

* * *

Sebastian had always been a hard-headed boy, often having only one decision for his actions and would stubbornly stick with it to the end―no matter what the consequences are.

Ciel had known that aspect of his since they were six.

Which was why, when Sebastian brought up that question―it had Ciel's mind gears turning.

"What do you mean?" Ciel asked as he clutched his blankets. "You're not going to get rid of her in any way," the teen whispered harshly. No, it would not do any good. Sebastian was jumping to conclusions!

Sebastian blinked.

"Okay."

This time, it was Ciel who blinked, "That's it?"

"No use in arguing with you. You will win over me, anyway," and Sebastian pecked his nose. Ciel grinned.

_Still, I know he does not give up easily_.

* * *

Anya had been talking to Ronald lately, and William and Angela had been exchanging suspicious looks. Ciel noticed this―the thick tension that floated in the air. He could feel it through the way they talked about mundane things―menial tasks, the food for the day, or any other small talk. Even Tanaka's smile had faltered just the slightest whenever he would talk with Ronald.

Forced smiles. Stiff shoulders. Guarded words. Alert eyes.

Unrest was something uncommon in the Phantomhive household―and it bothered Ciel to no end.

Even his father and mother had been keeping to themselves lately. He wondered why.

Everything had been fine then―until―

―no. He wouldn't go that trail of thinking.

But what if his thoughts were true?

It shouldn't. But it should.

Thoughts of suspicion and trust battled in his mind as he sipped on his daily afternoon tea. Sebastian was fussing over Tabitha's fur balls in the hallway earlier―and Angela was helping him clean it up. Ciel went away after seeing them kneeling on the carpets, as much as he would like to help them, he feared for his asthma.

Sebastian had been acting a bit strange lately. When nights came and he would think that Ciel was asleep, Sebastian would get up from the bed and leave the room. He then would return at the crack of dawn. Ciel never asked him anything about it, though. He wondered if his strange behaviour had something to do with the whole Anya thing.

But what if his hunch had been right all along?

He tapped his chin twice, a habit he had gotten from his father whenever something would upset him, and he hummed as he idly curled his toes in his socks and shoes.

Red and blue eyes drifted left and right, and seeing there was no one to bother him at the moment, he made a call on his mobile.

* * *

The sound of the doorbell echoed within the Phantomhive walls, and William opened the doors to the main gate to welcome the familiar guest in.

"Oh, good day, Mister Landers. Shall I call on Angela?"

Ash smiled and politely shook his head as her stepped inside, welcoming the warm air the estate held. "I will find her later, William. Oh, and is Ciel here? I wanted to ask him about something," and before William could open his mouth to say anything else, Ash cut him off with a palm held out to his face.

"And please, call me Ash. I've told you that before, right? I'm not like a noble. If I were, my sister wouldn't be here."

The butler nodded. He understood those words. Having to put up with the younger Landers living alone and apart from his sole family, he would occasionally call his dear sister just to catch up with the latest news about her life. That was enough for him.

And besides, this young man here seemed to fancy his dear sister.

Seeing the curt nod, Ash beamed at the poker-faced man, "Good. Now I ask again, is Ciel here?"

William bowed, "Of course. Let me lead you to him."

* * *

"...That's all you came up with?"

"Yes. Apparently, someone blocked the Guelph security system. I'm guessing they have something to hide aside from their expenses and the previous scandals."

Ciel hummed, his eyes scanning the stack of papers in front of him. At his young age, he already had the potential to become leader of his own company, as he could already state orders to his acquaintances about things such as spying on a person's private profile.

Ciel felt like a man on a mission.

Calling Nina after he had dismissed William―not before being pestered by an overeager Pluto on the bespectacled man's way out―he quickly planned to make an intensive prying on Anya's personal life.

Nina had agreed wholeheartedly to Ciel's plan―she could never refuse him, after all.

"Come over at noon, make it look like you're visiting Mother. Then make sure you 'accidentally' see her―then fawn at her or something," and from the other line, Nina could make out Ciel's gestures, probably flicking his hand dismissively as he spoke, "then go measure her and make small talk. The little things first. We'll discuss it at a later time."

Nina, after bidding Ciel an affirmative, immediately made the necessary preparations for making the new clothes, grinning and cackling madly as she did so.

* * *

Sebastian looked over the calgary tulips blooming in the garden, with Tabitha laying on his lap as he twirled a dandelion in between his fingers. He leant on a cherry tree, and looked at the sky dyed in orange-red.

He then heard a squeal, and from a distance, he saw Ciel, running over to him with a broad smile and with a flower wreath on his head, and behind him was a happily barking Pluto, chasing him down the grass.

Sebastian smiled and called Ciel over―no, he won't be thinking about depressing things now that Ciel was around.

"Sebastian! Pluto's after me!" and he bounded over to him just as the Scottish Fold crawled away from the smaller male. Laughing and heaving deep lungfuls of air, Ciel squealed once more when Pluto lapped up his face, and the unfortunate Sebastian was the victim of it all―having a boy and a Siberian husky sitting on your lap was much worse than letting a silent cat sit on you. At least the cat was a much lighter baggage.

"So I see―" Sebastian struggled with his breath suddenly knocked out of him, and even so, he didn't push Ciel away.

When the dog got tired and removed itself from the little teen, it decided to lie down with the silently observing cat beside a smiling Sebastian.

"It's getting dark, Sebastian," the teal-haired boy idly said after he regained his breath, tucking his head beneath Sebastian's chin, making the taller male sniff a wreath of flowers―Sebastian kissed the top of his head despite it all.

Sebastian gave in after being poked on the ribs repeatedly by Ciel―_My dessert is being prepared by William! We must eat it!_―and they went back to the mansion to eat.

When all was said and done, by the end of day, suspicions were still arising. Sebastian and Ciel, after cleaning themselves off for the night, accidentally passed by a perspiring Anya near the entrance to the servants' quarters. Initially, all the members of the household thought that the 'homeless' Anya had no one to go to―and it seemed that they were wrong.

Hiding behind the stack of boxes of canned goods by the door, Sebastian and Ciel overheard her talking to someone on the phone in a hushed tone. They peeked through the small nook of a box, and they were sure that she was nervous, judging from her unspoken actions―sweaty forehead, shifty eyes, constantly tapping feet, trembling hands―

Sebastian narrowed his mismatched eyes, and he looked at Ciel, who was quite determined on knowing who she really was. Sebastian had an inkling, but he didn't have enough proof.

He would have to wait for the opportune moment.

* * *

The same scenario went on, exactly at twelve midnight, Sebastian and Ciel would see Anya talking to someone in inaudible whispers near the servants' quarters, and the two teenagers were growing more and more suspicious day by day.

By the end of the week, Ciel had decided to tell his parents about the nightly calls Anya was making.

"Well then, we can't have that," said Vincent dryly as he looked at his son and his wife, his hand rested on his cheek as he spoke. His study room suddenly felt stuffy, "What do you think about this, Rachel? Should we take necessary measures?" He was smiling now, and inside, Ciel knew what his father was thinking.

He was thinking of tapping that specific line.

"Necessary measures are to be taken, Dear. I myself am quite suspicious of her. Did you know she was talking to herself in her room? Angela told me the other day."

Vincent cocked his eyebrow, intrigued by the whole thing. "Hm, that is strange. Did you ask Angela if she was talking to someone in her room, too? Maybe she has a phone hidden somewhere in her belongings."

"Father, we all know she came from the streets, and she had no belongings at that time, but I'll look into it," Ciel said sternly. "Also, even Anya was talking quite fond of Sebastian even though she didn't really know him much. And he never really talked to her from what I can tell. Maybe Ronald can say some things about her? Since he's courting her."

Rachel's eyes widened, "He is? Why didn't he tell us?"

Ciel shrugged, blinking, "We all know he's a player, Mother. Nothing new in that."

Vincent and Rachel looked at each other.

* * *

"Anya, dearie. Could you come here for a moment?" Angela spoke sweetly as she smiled at a serene-looking Anya, who was looking at the sterling roses in the garden.

The Russian cocked her hair to one side, curious, and she went over to the maid. "Yes?"

Angela giggled, her voice like the tinkling of chimes, "I just want to know about things, you know, like, what gave you the reason to go to England and all."

At this, Anya's eyes widened, and she quickly looked to her far left, at the porch, and she laughed awkwardly, and in her Russian accent, she let out a string of words―stories, might Angela add―about how a poor Russian lady such as her would end up in the heart of England, and their short chat turned into a conversation, the two of them idly talking about this and that as Angela tended to the garden, with Anya following her every move, and before they knew it, the sun had risen high above the sky.

"Looks like I have to help William with the cooking―he could get grouchy if no one helps him out, you see," and Angela giggled as she stood and dusted away her maid's uniform. "Anya, it's been nice knowing a glimpse about you. I do hope we get to talk like this soon."

And with that, she offered a hand to the deformed-looking girl, and Anya took it and stood, smiling awkwardly at the angelic maid.

From the inside of the mansion, hidden by the large burgundy curtains of the west wing, was Ciel, peeking through the wall-sized and perfectly-cleaned windows, looking at the gardens with his lone good eye.

* * *

The school was abuzz as per usual, its students and professors filling the hallways with sounds of talking and laughing, and in the cafeteria, Ciel's group of friends were huddled together in one table, as was the norm, laughing and discussing of matters of anything of everything.

"So, Nina, I take it you did your part?" started Ciel as he chewed on his plate of foie gras and caviar. Lunch at school was not par to his sweet tooth today, but it would have to do if he wanted to end the school day with a full stomach.

"Why, of course, my Ciellykins!" Nina said excitedly, her nostrils almost flaring as she stood up and slammed the table with her fists. "I, the Great Nina Hopkins, will show you the works that my gorgeously and ultimately artistic hands have done!" and she proceeded to take out a large sketchpad from her Hermes Black Crocodile Birkin bag―one of Nina's favorite bags nowadays―and she showed her design sketches to her friends. Grell, Maylene and Elizabeth, for the most part, were quite thrilled.

"This Anya girl we're talking about has bust measurements that could rival our very own Maylene! Imagine the designs I could make! Frills and chiffon with lace and silk―pastel colours or block colours, you can choose!―oh, such things I could do!" and Nina ranted on about the things of fashion, and Grell was taking notes attentively while Maylene blushed in embarrassment for being compared to a huge-breasted girl.

Ash, Sebastian, Ciel and Bard were, undoubtedly, unfazed by her over-enthusiasm.

"Fabulous, Nina. I'm thrilled," Ciel muttered dryly, looking quite uninterested at the change of pace. "Now, could we get back on the topic at hand? Say, with Anya?"

Smiling while humming at Ciel, she beamed, "Oh? ...Oh! Right, right, I'm sorry, got carried away, you see. Haha." She cleared her throat, "Other than her long Russian name, which I know that you know already―" Sebastian and Ciel blankly looked at each other. "She has a very, very strange skin condition on her face. I wouldn't even call it that. It looks unnatural; her face is badly misshapen, but the rest of her body is quite smooth, as though she never lived on the streets at all. Plus, she mentioned something about her saviour. Whoever that is―she made that person sound like a revered god."

The table was silent, and the voices and laughter of the other students around them were their white noise.

Mismatched red and blue eyes met, and Sebastian and Ciel gravely nodded.

* * *

Ciel did not hesitate to call his father the moment Nina relayed him the news, and the little teen got an affirmative from Vincent, and the elder Phantomhive went to drop by at school to pick up his son.

It was now nearing three-thirty in the afternoon, and the father and son were now sitting in one of the vast libraries of the school, discussing things about a certain questionable Russian. Sebastian was nearby, reading a book about Italian food.

"―and Sebastian told me something about hearing her talking to herself in the garden again, I swear! Right, Sebastian?" Ciel craned his neck and saw Sebastian blankly nodding as he continued to read.

Vincent sighed, "Well, what do you want me to do? I mean, we can't just cast suspicion on her based on that alone. We need real evidence. Something tangible. The phone tapping is not enough. We need to catch her in the act."

And just like that, Ciel hummed and snapped his fingers, his face exuberating that of a brilliant idea.

"I know what to do, Father!"

Vincent smiled and leaned on the table, his interest piqued.

"Well then, let's hear it, my boy."

* * *

I need to remind myself that this fic is going to be updated once in a while—I hope. D: *returns in hiding*


	25. Captura, Capture

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_"If you hadn't let them escape, then he would still be cooped up in here, idly wasting his life away thinking of the Little One."_

**DISCLAIMER: **Meh. :O

* * *

**A/N:***wails tears of joy* People are still reading mah fic! T^T I'm so happeh...! T^T

* * *

A nagging thought had been bothering Sebastian lately―and it involved telling Ciel what he really knew about the mysterious Anya. His tongue almost itched to say it to him, to _anyone_ in the house―that he personally knew the odd lady.

So when Ciel was close to falling asleep for the night, Sebastian held in his breath, and he dropped the bomb.

"I know who she is. That Anya."

Ciel's mismatched eyes snapped open.

* * *

Charles paced his room restlessly, his mind making lots of possibilities of where Anya might be. Claude was sure he knew where she was, but pride ate Charles out. There was no way he was going to ask that brick-faced man.

A knock came from the door, and when Charles opened it, he saw a bruise-faced Beatrice looking at him. He wordlessly let her in.

"She got a hold of you again," he idly observed as Beatrice mutely sat on the edge of his bed and blankly nodded. Charles took an ice pack from the adjacent bathroom and gave it to her. He sat down with the silent girl, and he laughed awkwardly, "If only he knows that we're taking all the consequences from his actions, Seba wouldn't have left."

Beatrice flinched, "I apologize―"

"But it's for his happiness."

"Eh?"

Charles looked at the ceiling and laughed, "If you hadn't let him escape, then he would still be cooped up in here, idly wasting his life away thinking of the Little One. Sebastian has the courage that even I don't possess―and it's admirable."

* * *

Claude was in Victoria's office, and he bowed before her, "She is seeking refuge in his bedchamber."

Victoria huffed and looked away from the butler as she sat on her plush chair, "That little wretch thinks she can find solace in Charles's company? Hah. A fruitless outcome it will be. Leave, Claude. Don't interrupt them for the meantime. Nothing fruitful will come out of their short chat."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

* * *

Angela talked to her dear brother over the phone in her room in the servant's quarters. She had been missing his presence lately since his last visit, and hearing her brother's voice soothed her.

"So you see, Ash, on my next payday, I might be able to buy you that white suit you like so much and―oh... Right now? But we've only talked for half an hour... Oh, fine. Say hi to your classmates for me! Bye-bye," she giggled as she hung up her phone, and when she turned around, she saw Anya cautiously peeking at her from behind her bedroom door. She gestured for her to come in, "Come in, come in! Oh, Anya. You don't need to be shy at me. Come!" And she watched as the door slowly opened and Anya timidly walked in, her hands clutched at the sides of her jeans.

Anya looked aimlessly at the floor as she spoke softly, "Um, you called me earlier?"

Angela hummed, and graced Anya a hidden smile, "Why, yes. I called on you earlier. You see, I have a problem with my phone. Static problems are a pain, wouldn't you agree? So," the maid turned around and rummaged through her drawer, humming a tune all the while as Anya's gaze drifted left and right, wondering what she was talking about―

The maid faced the fidgeting woman with a sweet smile as she showed her a purple-cased phone―

Anya froze, and she could feel blood pumping through her ears.

"I just bought this phone two days ago, you see. But whenever I try to call anyone, I would end up hearing nothing but static. So in the end, I'd still use my old phone. Would you happen to know anything about such gadgets?"

Anya could feel her palms starting to sweat as she looked at the phone sitting ominously on Angela's pale hands. "I... wouldn't know anything, Miss."

Angela tilted her head to one side, her lips slightly pursed as she looked at the shiny little thing. She sounded almost mocking as she spoke in her sweet voice, "Really...? Are you sure you don't know anything about it?"

The Russian continued to avoid her gaze, "Yes... I don't know anything about it."

Angela raised a fine eyebrow at her, her expression quite knowing as her lips quirked into a little sneer, "Well, I suppose you're telling the truth. I mean, you wouldn't happen to know anything about such a thing, let alone _own_ it, right?" She shrugged and beamed at the slightly shaking Anya, "Oh well. Silly me, asking _you_, of all people, if you know anything about such a device. I'll just ask oth―oh. William!"

And the smiling maid ran after William, who just happened to be passing by. She told him of what just happened as she showed him the phone in her possession.

The stoic butler didn't say anything else, as he merely nodded at Angela and took out a handkerchief from his coat pocket. Angela looked behind her, and seeing that Anya was still facing the other way around with her shoulders still hunched, the maid handed over the phone to William. He, in turn, glanced at Anya with a slight frown, and he wrapped the purple-cased phone in his handkerchief and put it in his trousers pocket. He held in a deep breath and patted Angela on the shoulder. And he nodded at her and quietly left.

Angela looked at William's retreating back with a smirk, and her eyes slid to a statuesque Anya, who was still facing her back towards her.

* * *

Ciel had been looking at the phone delivered to him by William earlier. The teen was in the gaming room, sitting on one of the bean bags littered on the carpeted floor. In his left hand was a game control, his finger pressing on the start button as he stared at the seemingly offending mobile.

"Willie said Angela found the mobile with Pluto's help," Ciel said to Sebastian, who was lying on the carpeted floor while reading a novel of Poe.

Sebastian sighed, "So the husky sniffed her scent?"

"Yup. I told you dogs are man's best friend."

"They're still noisy. My cat is silent."

Ciel pouted at the other male, and opted not to give him the satisfaction of a losing argument. So he took the phone and scrutinized it with his lone good eye, searching for any scratches or any indications that it was frequently used.

"This looks rather new. The casing, I mean. But I see the keypad looking a bit worn. The screen looks like it has been cleaned thoroughly recently, too. No signs of dirt on the edges. Hm, let's see..." And Ciel turned on the phone, and a bunch of letters he was quite unfamiliar with appeared on the screen.

Ciel tilted his head this way and that, trying to decipher which letter was which. Seeing that he could no longer try to decode the message on the screen, he called out to Sebastian to help him. And Sebastian, being the helpful friend that he was to Ciel, came over to him and looked at the phone in question.

"It's in Cyrillic. A type of alphabet used mainly in Eurasia―mainly by the former Soviet countries."

Ciel pouted at Sebastian, "How did you know such a thing?"

The raven-haired male smiled at the adorable face Ciel was making, and he tapped Ciel's nose as he spoke with a little laugh, "I know of these things because Brother taught me how to read these characters. Like the word that is shown on the screen here, it says, '_Dobro pozhalovat_', meaning, 'Welcome'." Sebastian smiled as he was explaining each letter shown on the screen, and when he asked Ciel if he finally understood, he was only met with a blank stare and a crooked index finger vaguely pointing at the screen.

"...So. You're telling me that this entire long bunch of Greek and Cyrillic letters mashed together only means one word in English?"

Sebastian nodded and laughed at the smaller male's reaction.

And so they tinkered with the phone that surprisingly had no passcode of sorts, and Ciel fiddled with its messages and contacts.

"They're all in Russian, Sebastian."

"Well, of course it's in Russian, it belongs to a Russian lady, after all."

"...But why is this particular message in English?" and Ciel showed him a short message on the screen, and the name of the sender sounded quite familiar―

―and that _number_.

Sebastian mumbled the words, "'I miss my not-so-mega-mini-little Anya already', it says. It's dated three months ago..."

Ciel's lips were set in a grim line as his mismatched eyes roved over the words twice. "It's from Charles Grey."

Sebastian let out a withheld breath slowly, his jaw taut as he pondered what to say, "Last time I heard, he refused to have any contact with her. He said that he had moved on and will be living with Phipps after this fiasco with Victoria ends."

"So your brother is lying...?"

Sebastian looked at the floor blankly, his mouth slightly open, "I―I don't know anymore, Ciel."

* * *

"Mister Charles, are you fine with all of this? I mean, you can't see your brother, you're forbidden to see _him_ and―"

Charles shook his head and gave Beatrice a resigned smile as he patted her head, "The meaning of self-sacrifice hasn't taken you over yet, I see. You'll know what I mean once you are in my shoes. For the meantime, you return to your room now. That brick-face has ears all over the place."

Beatrice laughed as she dabbed the ice pack on her face once more, "Oh, Mister Charles. I wish I have the same optimism you possess!"

* * *

Claude had been pacing in his room for quite some time, tapping his foot impatiently as he groaned over the phone in his hand.

He had been calling Hannah for the past hour, yet he couldn't get through.

_What on earth is happening to her?_

His eye twitched and he rearranged his eyeglasses for the umpteenth time as he listened on to the blank response he had been getting from her mobile. He sighed.

* * *

Sebastian had always been good at fixing and destroying things. In this case, he was completely disassembling Anya's phone with a tiny screwdriver, searching for anything that might give him a clue of sorts. About what, however, he couldn't tell as of yet.

"Ciel, pass me the magnifying glass, please... Thanks." And Sebastian looked, _stared_, at a little piece of folded paper stuck in between a tiny crevice of the device. He took a tiny pair of tweezers from his right and carefully slid out the parchment. Once done, he laid it out on the desk, and he smiled at Ciel. "See? What did I tell you? I told you we'd find something in here."

Ciel giggled from behind him. He had been observing Sebastian's work since earlier. "Well? Shall we open it?" he asked, his feet lightly bouncing as he leaned over Sebastian's seat.

Sebastian nodded and carefully opened the folded paper.

Two pairs of mismatched eyes looked at the string of words that were written on the paper full of creases.

'_Anya, I'm sorry._'

* * *

Hannah paced her room, biting on her thumb as she jogged her mind about a plethora of excuses just to get her phone back.

She didn't know how her phone ended up in Angela's possession. _I'm sure I put it under the pillow!_

The sound of a barking dog echoed from outside her room, and the familiar voice of Angela and William hollered down the halls, both of them calling for the boisterous Siberian husky.

All the while, Hannah had her brows furrowed as she glared at the door.

And she gasped as the door flew open and Pluto came barging in and barking straight at the startled Hannah.

Angela came to a stop and apologized to Anya when―

"...Oh. I see you have a bit of beauty beneath your mask, Anya."

Hannah turned around and faced her back towards the Phantomhive maid, her visible eye wide with fear at the discovery. _My mask!_

"You can't hide now, Miss Anafeloz."

Behind Angela, a slightly out of breath William stood with a pruning pole held upright in his right hand. Adjusting his glasses using the tip of the pole, he glared at the Russian. "We're taking you to the Master of the house, Miss Hannah. _If_, that is your real name."

Beneath Hannah's purple long-sleeved shirt, she took out a switchblade knife and calmly faced Angela and William―

―and she lunged straight at the smiling maid―

―not knowing that the blades of a pruning pole suddenly hovered just millimetres around her neck.

Hannah stopped in her tracks.

William's face held no emotion as he held up the blades of the pruning pole around Hannah. "Make one more step and I'll chop off your neck with no regrets."

Hannah bared her teeth at William, yet she dared not to move. Angela leered.

"Oh, William. Don't be brash. We don't use such methods of violence in the House. It's one of the rules, remember? Unless, of course―yes. That's it. Unless we so _kindly_ ask for the Master and Mistress's permission to commit such an act. I'm sure they will listen to our side."

Near Hannah's feet, Pluto growled, ready to strike any moment if ordered to.

* * *

The phone attached to one of the walls near the Guelph kitchen rang, and Claude, being the only servant currently serving the house and answering calls, answered it.

"Good day, Guelph residence. How may I―"

"_Please be informed that one of your contacts will be terminated as of tonight. Good day._"

And the line went dead.

Claude stared at the phone, wondering what just happened. "The voice of a woman..."

* * *

William's pruning pole finalleh makes an appearance~ :3 I just noticed the lack of SebaCiel moments here. :x


	26. Patefactio, Revelation

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_The sound of a sharp blade meeting flesh burned in their ears._

**DISCLAIMER: **Meh. :O

* * *

**A/N:***wails tears of joy* People are still reading mah fic! T^T I'm so happeh...! T^T

* * *

Hannah was tied up with a rope in Angela's room, and the Russian was half-dragged―by Angela and William―all the way to Vincent's office. Behind them, a faithful Pluto followed, its eyes alert should the bound woman try and struggle.

Inside Vincent's office, everyone in the house was present. Sitting on the large chair behind the large mahogany desk was a calm-looking and smiling Vincent. Standing on his left was Rachel, and on his right, Ciel and Sebastian.

The ones who opened the doors were Ronald and Tanaka.

Hannah was roughly pushed to the floor by a smirking Angela.

"Now, now, Angela. Don't show violence in front of the children."

At this, the maid bowed sincerely, "I'm sorry, Master. But she attacked us earlier with a knife hidden in the shirt I gave her two weeks ago."

Rachel's blue eyes widened with shock, "Well? Were you two hurt? How about my baby?" As though an answer to her question, Pluto came barking happily at Rachel, wagging its tail at her, and she hugged the husky.

William adjusted his glasses with the tip of the pruning pole, his face showing no emotion as always, "We are not harmed in any way, Madam. But..." His green eyes trailed to where Ciel and Sebastian were standing, and he frowned at Ronald. "I'm sure someone here tonight will be."

Heavy silence filled the room.

* * *

Claude wasted no time, and he immediately reported to Victoria what just transpired.

The old woman was writing a contract of sorts in her office―to a company executive, he supposed―and she heard what the butler said, the sound of her pen scratching on the paper stopped abruptly, and she gave him her undivided attention.

"Did you have an idea who she was?"

He stiffly shook his head and bowed, "No, Your Highness. I truly apologize if I don't have any idea―"

A wrinkly hand waved offhandedly, and Victoria's lips thinned, "It's fine. Just make sure you take note of this incident."

* * *

Claude sighed as he prepared today's afternoon tea. He still wondered who on earth the caller was. It had been a week since the calling incident, and no further suspicious calls happened since then.

And he couldn't contact Hannah.

Gloved fingers stiffened around the knife he was holding, and upon hearing the sound of the doorbell echoing from the halls, he stopped his dark thoughts and took off his apron.

Muttering curses and fixing his waistcoat as he briskly walked down the vast hallways of the Guelph estate, he heaved a sigh and fixed his hair one last time before putting on his usual passive face, and he opened the large oak doors―

―only to find no one there.

A low snarl almost escaped his lips, until he saw a large box right beneath his feet.

His brow raised, and his golden eyes scanned the perimeter of the area as far as his vision could see. And when he was sure that no one was really around, he grunted and glared at the box―

―and it _moved_.

Claude Faustus's eyes widened.

* * *

"Mother? Where is Anya?"

Ciel had just returned home with Sebastian (who was currently in the kitchen helping Angela with the cakes for tonight's dessert), and the little teen padded in the gardens with Pluto and Tabitha trailing behind him. Rachel was sitting beneath the large oak tree near the rose bushes, reading a book about kittens.

Rachel looked up the moment she heard her son's voice, and a small smile cracked on her face as she patted a spot next to her.

Ciel smiled and nodded and sat with his mother, giggling when Tabitha immediately went up to his lap and curled herself to sleep there.

"Where is Anya, Mother?" he asked again. "I haven't seen her since I got home. Is she still upset about the bindings? Is she still in her room sulking? Should I cheer her up with flower wreaths?"

Rachel shook her head, and her smile faltered just the slightest, and she patted Ciel's head as she looked at those wide and innocent eyes. "We let her go, dear. Anya is never coming back."

* * *

"Ciel and Sebastian are upset, dear. They think she ran away."

Vincent looked up from the papers he was signing, and he took off his reading glasses as he sighed. "They mustn't know what we did, Rachel. Ciel is too young to grasp such things."

Rachel bit on her lip and looked at the plush carpet adorning the floors of Vincent's office, her candle-like fingers idly twiddling as she did so.

"We shouldn't have done it, dear. That was inhum―"

"That woman tried to take away our son's happiness, Rachel. Please do remember that."

And she fell silent at her husband's words, and Vincent continued to speak.

"Putting that Russian in a box is the most humane way I could think of. Sending her back to her original employer in that way would serve as a warning. I even put some of Angela's worn clothes in there to keep her warm. It was with Angela's permission, don't worry." And Vincent's carefree smile turned just a tad cockier and much more wicked, and his midnight blue eyes almost shone in the afternoon light as he looked at his wife.

"I am openly declaring war against Victoria Guelph."

And Rachel Phantomhive's face was unreadable as she looked at her love's eyes.

* * *

Humming as Ciel twirled and spun daffodils into wreaths, Sebastian idly looked at the almost purple sky, silently admiring how the orange of the sun and the blue of the heavens melded together to form a sea of beauty above earth.

Sebastian wondered where Anya went. He knew that there was something more than Rachel's explanation, but—

"There, it's done!" and Ciel admired his work for a moment, tipping the circlet of flowers this way and that, and seeing that there was no loose stem sticking somewhere, he turned to Sebastian, and carefully placed the wreath on his head. "Sebastian is now pretty!" he exclaimed, and his mismatched eyes saw him smile widely.

"I think the word you're trying to say is 'handsome'."

A thin index finger pointed at Sebastian's hair. "But you have flowers on your head. So that means you're pretty."

Sebastian merely laughed, and silently backed down with no arguments. "I guess I am."

A comfortable silence fell upon the two as Ciel leant his head on Sebastian's shoulder, with nothing but the occasional hush of the wind startling the trees to break their otherwise peaceful calm.

A low hum, a thrum of the beginnings of a song about fields of gold passed in between a thin pair of lips, and Ciel silently listened to the deep notes of Sebastian's lulling vibrato, and he smiled.

Sebastian kept on idly humming, unaware of the other male falling asleep on his shoulder, and he looked up at one of the lit rooms in the mansion. And the first room he saw was Vincent's office, and he smiled upon seeing Rachel looking out of the window, and she waved at him. Sebastian waved back as he turned his attention back to the now slumbering boy.

Inside Vincent's office, Rachel looked softly at her son sleeping so peacefully on Sebastian's shoulder. And she giggled upon realizing that another flower wreath was placed on top of the black-haired male's head.

"What is it, Rachel?" came Vincent's voice from behind the large chair. He was still signing papers.

"Our little Ciel put a flower garland on Sebastian again. It's the daffodils this time." And Rachel heard Vincent chuckle.

"By the amount of time Ciel makes on creating flower crowns, I wouldn't be surprised if you woke up one day to see that your garden have been turned into a sea of flower wreaths," he said, and he stood up from his stuffy chair and stretched his back, glad to hear his joints popping as he raised his arms overhead. And he joined his wife near the open window.

"You see, dear. This is what I want to see from my son. I want to see him happy. And if being with another man makes him happy, I―I am fine with it. It might be a little hard to accept at first, but I already noticed it ever since they were young. It never hindered Ciel's personality at all, I think. His head is still clear."

"That's because our little boy is still innocent."

Vincent laid a hand on Rachel's shoulder, and he smiled upon seeing Sebastian placing a kiss on Ciel's hair. And the black-haired male picked a bunch of flowers from the pile beside him and placed them on his lap, and he began to make a wreath of flowers for Ciel. "Of course he is. Sebastian is keeping him safe from those prying eyes. And if all else fails, we will be there to catch them both once the world would turn cruel on them."

"And it surely will."

Rachel's words were almost too soft to hear, and a tear fell from her blue eyes.

Vincent glanced at his wife, and a pained expression painted his marbled face.

"This is why I refuse to back down to that woman. I just―I just think of what Charles is going through right now. Our son and he is in the same situation."

* * *

"And this is why I gave you this chance to make it up! And you ruined it!"

A harsh slap resounded in the room, and a pained cry was ripped out from Hannah's throat as she stumbled to the carpeted floor and felt her long hair being grabbed and pulled roughly.

Victoria had been furious since she received the news from Claude that Hannah returned, _literally_, in a box, and with no Sebastian in tow.

It wasn't part of the plan.

"You're telling me that you came here, on your own _accord_, in that _box_, with that Phantomhive servant's clothes, and without the queer? Are you that low and shameless, Anafeloz!" Victoria was seething now, and despite her seemingly weak stature of a woman in her old age, she had plenty of strength stored in her.

Outside her office, the banging of the door wouldn't cease, and Victoria was growing tired of hearing her grandson's cries for her to stop.

"Shut up, Charles! This is for your own good!" she bellowed, and her foot collided on Hannah's face.

Outside the room, Charles let out a strangling cry.

"_Anya!_"

* * *

Beatrice paced her room anxiously, and checked her clock for the umpteenth time. Hannah had been summoned by Victoria three hours ago, and it was now way past midnight―

―and the cries and screams wouldn't stop.

Even in the vastness of the Guelph estate, Beatrice swore she could hear Charles's cries of agony, and yet even if she wanted to, Beatrice couldn't help him.

The windows and the door were locked from the outside.

She bit on her nail, pondering which course of action would work best.

Claude was standing outside Victoria's office, that much she knew. The butler needed to restrain Charles with all his might.

_It means no one is standing outside. But the door's locked_.

Deciding that she should just break the door lock with a hammer, she nodded to herself and moved to just that―

―and her phone rang.

Cursing out, she answered her phone with much irritation, "What."

"'_ey, it's me!_"

Beatrice's eyes widened. "Jester?"

* * *

"Claude, let me go to her! She's going to get killed!"

Claude huffed as he struggled against the other man's wild thrashing. Both of them put up a lot of fight, and neither of them were giving up.

"Her Highness wants what's best for y―"

A sickening crack met Claude's face and glasses. And the butler fell to the floor with a thud as Charles growled at him, his fist still poised just in case the other would retaliate.

"No one decides for me, Faustus."

And Charles slammed the door open, just in time to see his grandmother about to kick Hannah's face.

"Anya!" and he dived into Hannah's defence, readying his back to shield her from the blows of his own grandmother. "Stop it!"

Kick.

"_Stop!_"

Kick.

"Don't defend her, Charles! She destroyed her chance of redeeming her lowlife self!" and Victoria pushed him aside and pulled on Hannah's hair, and the maid let out a wail as Charles hugged Hannah's waist with one hand and clawed on Victoria's arm on the other. "I should have killed her the moment she returned here! Her and that queer boy toy of yours!"

And on the doorway, Claude stood up groggily, and cursed when he saw his glasses were broken.

Growling at the sight of Charles gnashing his teeth and pulling out a sword from one of the displays on the wall, Claude charged at him in full force.

The sound of a sharp blade meeting flesh burned in their ears.

And Hannah Anafeloz cried out.

* * *

"Yes, yes Jester, I will!" Beatrice laughed over the phone, circling around in her room and her burgundy eyes widening in unbridled joy. The two have been exchanging calls in secrecy lately, and whether Beatrice would admit it or not, her heart had slowly grown fond of the Joker and his words.

Jester was going to go to the Guelph house to take Beatrice away.

She hung up her phone with much glee, and her plump lips couldn't stop the grin that adorned her face, and she looked at the locked door of her room.

"Time to bust out of 'ere."

* * *

It was already past three in the morning when the house of Phantomhive woke up from a frantic call.

The slumbering forms of Sebastian and Ciel in the bedroom were rudely knocked out of their dream-filled unconsciousness when Tanaka briskly tapped them on the shoulder.

"Wake up, Masters. Please," he croaked, and when two bleary pairs of mismatched eyes creaked open, Tanaka wasted no time to elaborate.

"Master Charles is in the hospital, and his grandmother is in critical condition!"

* * *

The heavy sound of running echoed down the hallways of the hospital where the Double Charles, Claude, Victoria, Hannah, Jester and Beatrice were.

Vincent was the one who barged in the room first, his strides purposeful as he quickly assessed the situation with midnight blue eyes. Charles Grey hurriedly stood and hugged the elder male, bawling for apologies and muffled forgiveness. All the while, Charles Phipps stood silently still beside a still shaken Jester.

On their left were two beds, one with Victoria in it, and one with Claude in it―

―both of whom Charles Grey had stabbed in the ribs and stomach with no hesitation.

Ciel looked at Victoria with little concern, then at Claude. The two on the bed were wrapped in bandages, and their skin as pale as a sheet. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sebastian with a tensed jaw and a blank gaze.

Sebastian wordlessly made his way to his stepbrother, and a lanky pair of arms hung limply on Charles's back as black hair draped on his shoulder.

And Sebastian cried for him.

"_I'm sorry I wasn't there, Brother._"

And the room was filled with a sad silence as Charles cried even harder. All the while, Hannah painfully cradled her broken arm. It had been broken by Claude earlier when she had tried to defend Charles from Claude's forceful attacks. The blow she received had been too strong that her bone had almost ripped through her flesh, as said by the doctor earlier.

She needed three months to recover fully.

Ciel took slow steps towards the unconscious Victoria, his face still holding that passive, emotionless stance―a very far cry from the boy who usually was joyful and carefree.

Bitty fingers twitched at the sight of that weakly rising and falling rib cage. Eyebrows curled downward at the sound of that ragged breathing.

So close. So _close_.

It would've been fine if―

"Ciel?"

The sound of his name being called out by his mother knocked Ciel out of his spiralling dark reverie―and Ciel turned around with a little frown and a hum.

"Come here, sweetie." And Ciel obeyed his mother, and Rachel held him tight. "It's going to be all right," she mumbled to her son as she patted and kissed his head.

From her seat, Hannah looked away in shame―for who, she couldn't tell.

Vincent calmed Charles Grey down, rubbing his back idly with a broken smile, softly saying words that everything was an accident and nothing more.

But Vincent was wrong. Oh so wrong.

Ronald, who had been a mute spectator the whole time, slid his gaze to the gloomy Russian woman sitting beside Charles Phipps.

He wanted to comfort her, somehow.

Beatrice, choosing now as the right time to speak up and explain everything, suddenly shook and wavered as she blurted out words from her rosy lips.

"Mister Charles did nothing wrong! She was being cruel to all of us! She beats me up if I don't follow her orders and locks me up if guests arrive in the house! She abuses Hannah and Mister Charles and plans to steal Sebastian from the Phantomhives to use him as a leverage for the money his inheritance has!"

Everything seemed to stop. Sounds seemed to cease, and in the dead of the stillness of it all, an very faint whisper slipped past Sebastian's lips.

"...What?"

* * *

Yay. Done for this chappie. Will write the next one soon~ *heart* I apologize if it's too short. D": *hides*


	27. Mysterium, Mystery

**Exsequor**

**Summary: **_"Karma will get Victoria Guelph someday."_

**DISCLAIMER: **Meh. :O

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Beatrice was silent as she sat with Sebastian in front of the room that confined Victoria and Claude―the idle chit-chat of the nurses and patients and visitors alike served as their background noise.

Beatrice Lorum had explained herself to Sebastian.

Aeons seemed to pass, and it wasn't until Sebastian mustered the courage to finally voice out a question that had been blaring in his mind since earlier―

"...I am an heir? Of a family in Germany?"

Beatrice looked away from him, unable to face those wide and terrified eyes.

A nurse passed them by, and she smiled at the pale-looking Sebastian, though the latter took no notice of it.

"I heard it once," he heard her say, "when I was eavesdropping outside her office. She seemed to be really angry at Claude that time. So I stayed silent."

His throat clenched at her story. His heart suddenly felt heavy, and his mind raced with numerous questions.

His vision swam in blurred pictures of black and white. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore―how did he end up in London? who were his real parents? why did they abandon him? did they not want him?

_Is that it?_

"Sebastian? Do you want to eat anything?"

Ciel's voice broke through his baffled mind, and his vision returned to full colour when he looked into those mismatched eyes that mirrored his.

"Do you want some iced coffee?" Ciel asked, and when he wrapped his lithe arms around Sebastian's shoulders, a wave of agony graced his features for a moment. "Sebastian's in pain," Ciel said simply, with an understanding smile aimed at Beatrice. "All he needs is a hug, just like always," and he looked at Sebastian in the eye, "right?"

The girl was not sure if the Phantomhive heir was being condescending, but―

_The look in his eye tells me he's sincere in worrying for him_.

Burgundy eyes burned the image of the broken Sebastian Michaelis and the comforting Ciel Phantomhive in her mind.

_The image of innocence is within them..._

* * *

Charles Grey slept on Phipps's shoulder, both of them too exhausted to keep up with the ceaseless chatter of Beatrice.

The girl had spilled everything. From the problems that plagued the Double Charles, to the painful fate and unrequited love of Hannah for Grey, to the cruel plot that Victoria had stored for Sebastian―Beatrice told them all.

And Rachel comforted Beatrice with the love only a mother could give.

Ciel couldn't bring himself to sleep, as Sebastian was still spacing out from the earlier revelation. Ciel soothed him with a silent song as he leant his head on his shoulder―

―in Sebastian's mind, a quiet echo from a meadow of flowers sang softly to him.

Hannah observed them silently, and her heart slowly felt at ease.

"Anya?"

The Russian maid blinked and looked at Rachel, who was offering an embrace―

―and Anya Anafeloz cried in the Phantomhive lady's arms.

All the while, Vincent nodded to himself and to Ronald, an unspoken conversation between their expressive eyes.

* * *

Sebastian toyed with the strands of Ciel's hair as he slept on his lap. It was nearing six in the morning when they left the hospital, and the two of them were allowed to skip school just for today.

Vincent and Rachel looked tired and weary, and when they returned home and prepared themselves for a very late rest, the whole household slept quickly.

Once noon came, everything seemed to start quite sluggishly―the Phantomhive servants talked silently amongst themselves. William, being the one to wake up the earliest, as he was the butler of the house, carried the darkest eye bags out of all of them.

When Sebastian appeared by the dining hall to eat with Ciel, Tanaka, William and Angela hushed, and quickly made their way with hurried excuses.

Vincent and Rachel ate amongst themselves―brunch was a silent occurrence for today, and the tension was almost suffocating.

This carried on until the next day, and once everyone was in their respective places in work and school, the cloud of tension seemed to die out.

It wasn't until lunchtime that Grell had brought up the topic that everyone had been trying to avoid since early morning.

"So? What's eating the Little Raven and his Bride today? I heard some very nice news last night."

Sebastian huffed, a sneer painting his face―a rare occurrence for the young man. "Not now, Grell. It's been a tough night."

"Oh? Straight from the horse's mouth, I see!" and Grell flashed Sebastian his teeth as he cupped his chin. "Do elaborate."

Nina scoffed, and waved a dismissive hand on Grell's intrigued expression. "If they don't want to talk about it, let them be. It's not the end of the world."

Ash groaned in his seat, uncaring for the way Grell was now crawling on his lap. "I tried hacking into the Guelph security system again. This time, I saw something that might―pique your interest and fuel your anger at the same time." Cautiousness laced Ash's voice, his face too guarded and serious.

Sebastian looked at Ciel, and he shrugged at the teal-haired male. Ash then spoke.

"According to Claude's research of the Michaelis clan―" Ash ignored the evident twitch in Sebastian's eye when he uttered Claude's name, "as per Victoria's orders―Sebastian is―"

"An heir to a very wealthy family in Germany, we know," Ciel cut him off, waving his hand dismissively with a huff.

William shook his head, "That's not all. It says there that Guelph will try to contact his family in Germany, and will force them to cooperate with her and―"

William stopped explaining when Sebastian sighed, "I really don't see the gain in it. Why all the trouble just for that? I don't even know my parents."

Grell batted his eyelashes, looking at the mirror as he finished his mascara. "The old bag must be thinking of either taking the business by force, or by killing them, _and_ taking it by force." Upon seeing the odd looks on his friends' faces, he pouted. "Whaaat―? I would totally do that."

Maylene smugly looked at Grell, crossing her arms and raising her fine eyebrow, "My family has a branch of the gunneries in Frankfurt. I can track his parents down and alert them if you want, Master Ciel. If worse comes to worst, I can just bring them down."

Ciel laughed dryly, "No need to spread senseless drivel and violence, Maylene. It will only bring us headaches."

The strange glint in Ciel's eyes silently startled Maylene and the rest of the group. Ciel smiled rather eerily―a quite rare expression from the usually vibrant boy.

"Karma will get Victoria Guelph someday."

Sharp brown eyes narrowed.

* * *

Bleary eyes opened weakly, and they saw a blinding light, along with a blurry image of a person, a woman by the looks of it, standing by the bed.

Victoria coughed and struggled to let out a weak greeting of sorts (as she thought it was Hannah), yet the only thing that came out of her was a raspy squeak.

She reached out a bony and shaky hand towards the blurry image.

And the mysterious blurred person moved away from the bed, and Victoria's hand fell limp.

The sound of a moving trolley was heard, and she felt something pricking her arm.

Teary, weary and yellowish eyes slowly slid shut.

The sound of a trolley wheeling away was heard once more, and low humming was heard from the woman's pretty lips.

Plum-hued hair flowed from her back, and she batted her long lashes closed as she passed by a doctor talking to a nurse.

The woman silently slipped towards the restroom, and she removed her nurse outfit.

* * *

Only 1,300 words this chapter. This fic is about to end, after all. =w=~


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